


Even Through All This, I See You

by veritas_st



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Big Bang Challenge, M/M, Teen Wolf Big Bang, stiles has visions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-27
Updated: 2012-12-27
Packaged: 2017-11-22 15:37:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 34,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/611406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/veritas_st/pseuds/veritas_st
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Hale family have lived in Beacon Hills for generations, they’ve always been here, they always looked after the town.  They’ve always had a…seer if you will.  A person with special gifts to look out for them, a human who would see when things were heading in the wrong direction.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Even Through All This, I See You

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first big bang and I had the pleasure to work with the very talented, very lovely Qhuinn (Tekla on LJ). Her art for this is [here](http://qhuinn.tumblr.com/post/38909025682/teen-wolf-big-bang-exchange-even-through-this) and [here](http://qhuinn.tumblr.com/post/38920619896/teen-wolf-big-bang-exchange-cover-for-even)

_Ela Stilinski pulls her coat tighter around her, the cold mid winter wind cuts through the thick material, and small flurries of snow tumble down through the trees. Wet leaves and small flakes of snow cling to her boots and she heaves a sigh of relief that she pulled them on at the last minute. The walk over isn’t long, it’s hard going eight months pregnant though, but the need to tell Mary what she saw is strong, and the memory of the vision dances in her head, flames licking around her ankles. She shivers again, more against the memory than the cold and the small life inside her stomach kicks gently and Ela strokes her hand over it, the automatic gesture of an expectant mother. The Hale house looms in front of her, warmth seeping from the lit windows._

_“Shush now little one,” she murmurs and shoves her free hand into her pocket. The lift inside stills, but she knows it wont be long before it moves again, it’s never still for long and Ela smiles to herself as she reaches out and grasps the large brass handle on the door in front of her. It creaks slightly, and the knock against the old wood seems louder in the dark than it does during the day._

_“Ela? You shouldn’t be out there now,” Mary’s strong hands pull her gently inside and she looks Ela up and down. The warmth of the Hale house seeps in, makes her cheeks burn slightly. “Are you ok?” Mary pushes her hands into Ela’s coat, the only one apart from her husband who’s allowed to touch without asking. Her fingers spread out across the swell of her stomach. She smiles slowly. “Hello, Special One.”_

_A small boy of three or four appears at the top of the stairs, thumb in mouth and dark hair sticking up in odd places as he rubs at his eyes. Mary turns, hands withdrawing from Ela’s stomach and Ela feels the life inside her shift, hands pressing inside her belly, like it’s trying to find Mary again. “Derek, back to bed.” Mary takes two steps up and Derek’s face crumples._

_“Bad dream,” he mutters around his thumb and Mary reaches him, goes down on her knees and pulls him close. His greeny-blue eyes stare at Ela over his mother’s shoulder. “Fire.”_

_Ela reels, hand gripped around the stair rail and Mary snaps her gaze to her._

_“Ela?” Mary picks up Derek effortlessly and is at Ela’s side in a second. “What did you see?”_

_“Fire,” Ela says and runs her palm over her stomach protectively. The life kicks her hand, playfully, and she cant help but smile despite the dread that coils around the back of her neck. “I saw fire.”_

__

The visions start on Stiles’s 18th birthday. 

He wakes with a pounding headache and thinks its just the alcohol he stole from his dad the night before, Whiskey topped up with a little water. He spent the evening on his own, difficult to spend it with your best friend when you haven’t properly spoken to them for two years. The burn of Scott’s betrayal to the Argent’s still hurts too much for Stiles to do anything except duck behind the nearest _anything_ when he sees Scott. They’ve exchanged a few words but nothing meaningful and even though Stiles is still hurt from the betrayal, he misses Scott. Misses that easy friendship, the knowledge that there was someone there no matter what. 

But the visions start, is the point, and Stiles presses the heels of his hands into his temples, curls himself into a ball and through the haze of pain sees Derek howl in agony, smells the dying leaves on the floor of the forest and the blood coming from the arrow in Derek’s shoulder and feels Derek’s heart pound in his head. He gasps, cries out as his head feels like its about to split open and then its gone. Everything. Leaving a slight pounding which he could put down to the alcohol. 

Except the image wont go away, the headache fades but the image of Derek in pain wont. And he doesn’t know why but it preys on him, haunts him, and he keeps expecting to round a corner and see Derek shot, arrow through his shoulder. 

It takes him two days to find someone to talk to. 

“I think I’m going crazy,” Dr Deaton looks at him across the vet table, shiny steel making Stiles’s eyes hurt. The headache may have faded mostly but it’s still there, lurking behind his eyes as Stiles fiddles with a packet of Latex gloves. 

“I think we all have that capacity,” Deaton says in his calm voice and Stiles drops his head to his hands. 

“I just keep seeing it,” Stiles groans, his voice bouncing off the metal table and when he lifts his head, Deaton is looking at him with his head cocked to the side. There’s that calm curiosity in his gaze that makes Stiles squirm, and he doesn’t really know how he ended up here, at the Practice, with his head still hurting and the smell of wet dying leaves still in his nose. 

“Seeing what?” 

“Derek…hurt…it felt so real, like I was there, like I was Derek and it just wont go away,” Stiles throws up his hands, runs them through his hair, it’s longer than his trademark buzz cut now and his bitten off nails catch against the strands. “I can still smell his blood.” 

“You’re not going crazy,” Deaton says and braces his hands on the table as he leans forward, “although I understand why you feel that way.”

“How can you possibly understand?” Stiles accuses and something in the way Deaton looks at him knocks the wind out of Stiles’s nearly angry sails and he deflates, “oh…you?” 

“Sometimes,” Deaton replies, “they are not fun…but they’re useful Stiles, and you have to learn how to use them.” 

“What are they?” 

“Vision, premonitions, second sight, ways to help _certain_ people, call them what you will Stiles, but they’re a gift,” Deaton says and Stiles scoffs at him, ignores the emphasis Deaton puts on _certain people_ and runs his hand over his head again, rubs at the back of his neck. 

“A gift? My head felt like it was going to explode,” Stiles’s voice is quiet and Deaton nods sympathetically and reaches out, claps Stiles gently on the shoulder, like a teacher imparting knowledge. 

“And it’s going to hurt until what you saw comes to pass,” Stiles almost laughs at Deaton’s words, the ridiculousness of the situation until he takes a look at Deaton’s serious gaze, tinged with worry and sympathy. 

“Who _are_ you?” Stiles asks and Deaton’s lips curl into a small, almost sad smile. 

“Just someone who tries to help…” Deaton pauses, gazing at small bottles of different coloured powders on a shelf on the wall, to anyone else it might look like wasting time, like stalling for an answer but Stiles knows Deaton is deliberate in everything he does, “have you talked to Scott about this?” he asks finally pulling one bottle down and Stiles shakes his head as Deaton turns around to face him. 

“I haven’t spoken to Scott properly for two years,” Stiles says, rubbing at the back of his neck again and trying to ignore the raised eyebrow from Deaton. 

“He may have made a wrong choice,” he says finally after staring at Stiles long enough to make Stiles uncomfortable, “but what he did, he did out of love, for Allison, for his mom…even for you. And it worked out in the end.” Stiles suppresses the bitter laugh as he remembers Gerard’s emotionless face looming over him, fist raised. 

“He lied to all of us,” He counters shaking his head to clear the images and Deaton’s lips curl into a wry smile. 

“Haven’t we all lied to protect people before?” Stiles’s stomach does that uncomfortable twist it does whenever he thinks about what he put his father through. They’re ok now, it’s taken this long, and Stiles still finds his dad looking out over the back yard, hands braced against the kitchen sink, staring through the window with a lost expression on his face sometimes. 

“I suppose,” he answers and Deaton nods, holds a bottle of orange powder out to him. 

“This will help with the headaches,” he says and Stiles takes it, holds it like it’s going to explode and Deaton lets out a small laugh. “Stir it into water…it wont kill you.” 

“Uh…thanks,” Stiles shakes the bottle a little and then shoves it into his pocket. 

“You need to find Derek though,” Deaton finishes, “because you will keep seeing that until you do.” 

“So…why Derek?” Stiles presses his fingers to his temple and Deaton sighs, reaches into a drawer in the long bank of steel cabinets and pulls out a book. It’s old, bound in crinkled leather and there’s a brass catch on the side that keeps it closed. Deaton flips it up and opens the book onto the table. He mutters to himself as he flicks through it and makes a noise of satisfaction when he finds that page he was obviously looking for. 

“The Hale family have lived in Beacon Hills for generations,” he starts and turns the book to face Stiles, points at the date on the top of the page. _1815_. Stiles frowns, “they’ve always been here, they always looked after the town. But with them came hunters and then the people of Beacon Hills started to fear the Hale’s, forgot what good they did. They’ve always had a…seer if you will. A person with special gifts to look out for them, a human who would see when things were heading in the wrong direction. It wont always be just them though, sometimes it might be other people in trouble, maybe even other…creatures.” Stiles frowns again. 

“But why me?” He hears the whine in his own voice. Deaton raises an eyebrow. 

“You really have to ask that question?” Stiles’s heart stops for a second, he feels the blood drain from his face as he remembers soft hair, gentle hands, easy kisses pressed to his forehead, _my little man_ whispered into his ear as he buried his head into her shoulder. 

“Mom?” It’s whispered, choked out and Deaton’s face softens. 

“It was a peaceful time when Ela lived, she probably only had two or three visions in her life,” he tries for reassuring, but Stiles’s hands are shaking. 

“Is that what…” Stiles holds out his shaking hands and Deaton clasps both of his around them and presses his palms together. 

“No, her cancer had nothing to do with this,” he says and Stiles feels the shakes bleed from his hands. And whether it’s the gentle tone in Deaton’s voice or the reassurance that what killed his mother wasn’t some crazy visions for the Hale family, or something else to do with the almost ethereal light shining behind Deaton’s brown eyes, he isn’t sure. 

“Did my dad know? About them?” Stiles asks and Deaton shrugs in a controlled, almost elegant way. 

“You’ll have to ask him.” 

“I don’t…” _want them. I don’t want to ask him. I don’t want to put that burden on him when he has enough on his shoulders already. I don’t want them_. 

“You’ll find a way to control them, but Derek needs to know,” Deaton interrupts. 

There’s something about the way he says that, the tone in his voice that leaves Stiles knowing the conversation is done for today. He sighs, presses his fingers to his temple and mutters goodbye. 

… 

He dreams of Derek that night, broken and hurting, smells the blood and feels the sticky warmth run through his fingers as he presses his hand to his own shoulder. 

He wakes with a start, sweat prickling against his skin and the moon throws shadows against the carpet. 

…

He meets with Erica sometimes, shares awkward conversations over awkward coffees and tries not to bring up the fact he misses the Pack. It’s a weird kind of missing though. For one he doesn’t miss the life threatening situations anymore. The last one had been the Alpha Pack and that was something Stiles would really rather he never had to go through again. Ever. But somehow, for some unknown reason he misses _them_ , and he hates that he finds himself missing Derek more than the others. Derek Hale of the “do it or I’ll rip your throat out” threats. 

Erica smiles easily at him, slides into the chair in front of him. 

“Hey Batman,” she says and Stiles grins back. It’s awkward between them because they both feel they shouldn’t be doing this. Derek cut off everything with ‘Scott’s Pack’ when he found out about Scott’s betrayal, glaring at Stiles with disappointment in his eyes, only Erica and Isaac looking at him like they both knew he had nothing to do with it. 

Isaac never comes on these awkward coffee dates, but Stiles is pretty sure Erica tells him and Boyd everything, curled together sharing the same breath. Not that he has proof, but Stiles has seen the way they all look at each other often enough to figure it out. There’s something comforting about knowing that the three of them have found ease with each other. 

“Hey Catwoman,” Stiles replies and Erica runs her finger through the foam of the coffee Stiles bought for her. They talk at school, passing comments as they pass in the hallways, but it’s not like this, it can’t be and Stiles leans back in his chair and crosses his arms. They’ve too much between them to _not_ do this. 

“You look different,” Erica says, cocking her head to the side and Stiles frowns. 

“Different how?” 

“I don’t know yet,” she takes a sip of coffee, “so what’s with the emergency?” 

“How’s Derek?” Stiles asks, staring intently at his sugar packet. Even though he can still feel Erica’s eyes on him and he looks up to find one perfectly plucked eyebrow arched over her eye and a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips. 

“That’s the emergency?” She asks with amusement in her voice. 

“Erica please,” Stiles begs and Erica frowns slightly, the line between her eyebrows deepens. 

“He’s fine, Stiles…what’s going on?” She cocks her head to the side and Stiles shifts in his seat. 

“No…new enemies? No injuries? Nothing?” Stiles pushes, because he has to, this feeling that something terrible is about to happen, he can’t get over it. Especially because he’s seen Derek in pain. He shakes his head slightly. 

“Stiles…” Erica leans across the table and touches his hand gently, immaculate nails bright red against his skin. He lowers his head to the table. 

“Urgh, Erica, I think I’m going crazy, but Deaton says I’m not so…” he smacks the table with his forehead lightly and lifts his face to see Erica looking at him, face slightly confused. 

“You see Deaton?” 

“I couldn’t think of anyone else to talk to,” he shrugs and curls his hands around his coffee mug. Erica reaches forward again and takes one of his hands in hers. 

“What’s going on Batman?” 

“I think Derek’s going to get hurt,” he says finally, after a long sigh and a few silent moments and Erica blanches but he sees her swallow and sit up that little bit straighter. 

“What do you know?” 

“Nothing other than I cant get the fucking image out of my head,” Stiles practically shouts, fist slamming against the cheap plastic table and people turn their heads but Stiles drops his to the table again, and groans. 

“Stiles…” Erica says again, voice softer this time, concerned, “talk to me.” 

“Deaton says they’re visions,” Stiles says and it hit by the recurring image of Derek howling in pain. He shakes his head again and pinches the bridge of his nose. 

“Of what?” Erica asks, and Stiles takes a second to thank who the hell is up there watching over them that Erica doesn’t seem to even flinch at the confession that Stiles has been having visions. 

“Derek,” he says with a grimace and Erica’s face softens from concerned to gently amused. 

“Really Stiles, moving your crush from Lydia to Derek now are you?”

“Ok not funny,” Stiles counters with a smile of his own, “and so not true.” 

“Sorry, so visions huh? When did this happen?” 

“Two days ago,” Stiles bites on his thumb nail as something flits across Erica’s face. It falls. 

“Oh shit Stiles I forgot your birthday,” she reaches out and curls her fingers around his wrist, he does the same, feels her pulse thud against his palm. 

“Don’t worry about it,” he says and squeezes her wrist gently. “My mom used to get them, the visions, apparently it’s genetic.” She smiles, a little sadly. 

“You never talk about her to me,” she says, squeezing his wrist back. Stiles shrugs. 

“I never talk about her to anyone.” 

“Derek’s fine…” she pulls away and takes a sip of her coffee, “I promise.” 

“Ok,” Stiles nods although he can’t shake the feeling that it wont always be fine. He’s spent too long in Beacon Hills surrounded by werewolves and Kanimas and god knows what else to know that nothing stays fine for long. _Hyper Vigilance_ , Ms Morell’s words come back to him and he shakes his head slightly, “will you do me a favour?”

“Not tell him?” Erica grins and pulls a finger of foam into her mouth. She releases it with a slight pop and draws looks from the men surrounding her. Stiles often wonders if she would have found this confidence without Derek, without having to turn into what she is now. But it doesn’t matter, Erica is who she was always meant to be now. Anyone can see that, the easy confidence and the slight edge of danger she exudes. Stiles knows a lot of it is a front though. He’s seen Erica broken and hurting enough to know that. 

“Yeah,” Stiles lets out a huff of breath, almost like a small laugh and smiles a little lopsidedly. Erica reaches out and pats his head. 

“Sure thing, Batman…” she leans across the table of presses a kiss to his forehead, “gotta go, but text me if you need to ok?” 

“Ok.”

…

It happens again that night, stronger this time and Stiles jerks awake with a scream dying on his lips and pain blooming across his shoulder. He shudders in a breath, curls his knees up to his chest and doesn’t close his eyes again. 

…

A week. A whole seven days of a headache that wont go away and the feel of Derek’s blood under his fingers nails and Stiles cracks. Erica, Isaac and Boyd weren’t in school today, even Jackson was strangely missing from Lacrosse practice and Stiles can’t shove down the feeling that something’s happened, the feeling in the pit of his stomach, the way it twists and turns like snakes. He finds himself halfway to Derek’s house before he even realises what he’s doing. 

The house is fixed now, still looks a little shabby from the outside but Stiles expects Derek didn’t want to have a constant reminder of what the house looked like before Kate burned it to the ground. Even though the Argents are fully aware of where they are, Derek was more than happy to move back in after the death of Gerard. Allison for the most part, is harmless, even though she’s gone completely hunter crazy since her mother died. Allison is still young and Chris manages to keep her in line most of the time. She toes the line of The Code ever since her break up with Scott, and every now and then jumps right over it. Thinking of Allison makes his chest hurt. Because he remembers Scott’s smile whenever she was around, and her answering one. And he remembers fielding messages between them back when things weren’t so screwed, back when he and Scott still spoke. Thinking of Allison makes him think of Scott. And that’s when he realises how much he misses him. 

He’s letting himself feel maudlin when there’s a loud bang from his door and he lets out a girly scream as Erica wrenches the door open. 

“Stiles…come,” she looks worried, scared even, and bounds off back to the house quicker than Stiles has ever seen her move. 

That’s when he hears the howl of pain so eerily family that his knees go weak for a second. But then he’s running, tripping over his own feet but making it to the house and barrelling through the door to find Derek on his knees with Isaac crouching next to him, Erica clutching at Boyd’s hand and Jackson hanging in the background looking uncomfortable and worried. It’s not a good look for him. 

Stiles is immediately on his knees in front of Derek, pulling Isaac’s hand away from his shoulder. There’s a puncture wound, not big, but it’s dark around the edges and the veins leading away from it are black, the blood oozing slowly from it is thick and dark and smells like death and Stiles swallows and warily reaches out his hand. 

“Is this what you saw?” Erica asks as Stiles presses his palm to the hole in Derek’s shoulder. Derek snarls and Stiles ignores the confused look the others share. Stiles nods and Erica bites on her bottom lip. 

“What happened?” He asks and Derek growls again, his eyes fluttering and he collapses. Stiles goes with him, hand still pressed to his shoulder, his skin’s burning under Stiles’s palm. 

“Allison,” Boyd says, “she tipped it with…something, he’s not healing and…” 

“It’s a wolfsbane,” Stiles interrupts and Erica frowns and squats down next to him, running her fingers over Derek’s sweaty forehead, Stiles has seen this before, seen it on Derek before but this is faster acting and Stiles feels his stomach clench as Derek groans and tosses his head to the side. 

“Can you do anything?” Erica asks, her fear for her alpha almost palpable. Stiles looks up at the boys and feels an almost crippling sympathy for all of them as they watch the man who made them what they are in pain and fading before their eyes. 

“I can try,” he says, searching his memory for what Derek did the last time this happened, and through the research he did after. He presses his fingers to his forehead. “Ok…ok…I need…a lighter,” he holds out his hand and snaps his fingers and someone, he’s not sure who, he’s busy focusing on the way Derek’s eyes move beneath the lids, puts one in his hand. It’s cheap, the disposable kind and Stiles groans as he twists the wheel back and forth, grating the flint into the wound on Derek’s shoulder. Derek shudders, there’s a full body ripple and the black of his veins spreads a little more. Stiles grimaces, closes his eyes briefly and spins the wheel one last time, sparking the last remaining flint. It catches on Derek’s skin, blue smoulders, smokes, curls from Derek’s skin and lights up in his veins as it travels through his body and Stiles falls back as Derek’s body arches upwards, muscles tense and quivering. 

“Stiles?” Erica’s voice is pleading, quiet and Stiles scrambles back to Derek and cup a hand around his face. 

“Don’t kill me for this,” he says to Derek, and to the pack, and has to laugh slightly to himself as he draws back his fist and punches Derek in the face. Again. 

Derek’s gasps, surges upwards and Stiles lets out a choked cry as he finds himself flat on his back with Derek growling down at him, eyes flashing red and chest heaving. 

“Dude,” Stiles pats at his arm and waits until the fight goes out of Derek’s eyes. Derek breathes heavily, his grip on Stiles’s arms loosening and then he’s off, grimacing and pressing his own hand to his shoulder. “You ok?” 

“What…” 

“Allison shot you…again. Must be that time of the month,” Isaac says and Derek growls, a low rumble in his chest and Stiles pities Allison right now. “She tipped the arrow in…” Isaac trails off and looks at Stiles. 

“A wolfsbane,” Stiles offers and Derek looks at him, acknowledgement in his eyes, and Stiles can practically see him remembering the last time when Kate shot him. 

“Like aunt like niece,” Derek mutters and Stiles lets out a small laugh and stands. 

“Right then…I’ll be off, nice to see you all,” Stiles is shaking, his hands trembling and he shoves them in his pockets, takes a step towards the door. He doesn’t get far before his knees give out and Erica’s there in an instant, lowering him to the floor. 

“You ok?” 

“Yeah, just…” Stiles pushes away from her, “just…fuck…” He grips at her jacket and Erica mutters soothing noises at him. He’s fucking terrified. This wasn’t meant to happen, he wasn’t mean to see this happen a week before it happened, he wasn’t meant to feel Derek’s pain in a dream that left him with a headache, he wasn’t meant to taste Derek’s blood and smell the damp leaves. 

“Stiles?” Derek’s there, his large hands wrapped around Stiles’s face, lifting his gaze to Derek’s eyes. And _oh my God…is he…concerned?_. Stiles’s vision blurs at the edges. “What’s wrong?” Derek asks, but he’s not looking at Stiles anymore. He’s looking at Erica. 

Stiles’s chest is getting tight. He can’t breathe and he pushes away from Erica, tries to stand, Derek hauls him to his feet and outside and through the screaming ringing in his ears Stiles can hear Derek’s ragged breathing. 

Stiles lowers his hands to his knees and drags in a few breaths.

“I’m sorry…I…” 

“Don’t apologise,” Derek says, gruff and to the point. “But anytime you feel like telling me what the hell is going on, feel free.” 

“I wouldn’t know where to start,” Stiles admits, his chest loosening and his vision clearing. 

“You ok?” Derek asks, looking at Stiles with concern again and Stiles really can’t wrap his head around that look. 

“Yeah…I think.” 

“Good. So how about you start at the beginning.” 

…

Despite the fact they haven’t spoken properly for two years, it takes Stiles all of ten minutes to tell Derek, thanks to his babbling skills, his hands wrapped around a mug of tea that Erica shoved into his hands without a word and disappeared back into the house. Stiles’s feet are dangling off the edge of the porch and he kicks his heels against the wood. 

“So…” Derek starts, and stops, a frown wrinkling his forehead. 

“Yeah…so…” Stiles agrees, because yeah. What he’s just told Derek, to be honest he doesn’t really believe himself, how the hell is Derek meant to believe he’s suddenly developed the ability to see things before they happen? And not just things apparent, but Derek related things. When the hell did his life become this…ridiculous? Discounting the Werewolves and crazy lizard people and psychotic geriatrics of course. 

“So you’re like what? My guardian angel?” 

“I prefer…well anything other than that but I don’t know man, Deaton says that the Hale family always had someone like me,” he shrugs and Derek flinches at the mention of his family. 

“You spoke to Deaton first?” 

“What was I meant to do? Scott wouldn’t understand even if we were still speaking, Allison’s all crazy head bitch in charge, Lydia…well Lydia’s Lydia and you? You’d probably threaten to rip my throat out with your teeth and tell me I’m crazy and everyone else is your pack,” Derek makes a face like Stiles has a point and sighs. 

“Don’t be mad at Scott because of me,” he says quietly, and the sting of Scott’s betrayal is probably as fresh in Derek’s mind as it is in Stiles’s. 

“I’m not…I mad at him because he sided with the crazy hunters who wanted to kill us all, me included and I’m nothing,” Stiles protests and Derek looks at him, his expression blank but Stiles has come to know that even when Derek’s face is blank there’s more going on under there anyone he knows. 

“You’re not nothing…you’re a visionary…” There’s a strange, unfamiliar curl to Derek’s lips, tugging at the corners and Stiles feels his mouth fall open in shock. 

“Did you…did you just make a joke? Did I fall over? Am I dreaming? Have I got concussion?” Stiles places the back of his hand against his forehead and Derek rolls his eyes. 

“Don’t get used to it…” he grumbles and Stiles, risking his hand being bitten off…literally, pushes at his shoulder gently and grins, feeling better than he did ten minutes ago, “Thanks…by the way,” Derek says quietly and Stiles, shocked at the word from Derek’s lips, swallows it down and takes a sip of his cooling tea. 

“For saving your life again?” Derek nods once, “no problem…” Stiles shrugs, drains the rest of his tea, “and hey, at least I didn’t nearly have to cut your arm off this time right?” Derek’s lips curl again and Stiles thinks that he should smile more often. Stiles pushes himself to his feet, “I should go,” he sways slightly and Derek’s hand clamps around his elbow to steady him. 

“You’re not driving,” Derek says, orders all Alpha-y and bossy, and Stiles, for some reason, feels his blood pressure rise. 

“Um…did I miss the memo where I became part of your pack?” A frown flitters across Derek’s face, “it was a panic attack, I’m good…” he makes it down one of the step without stumbling, and he’s pretty pleased with himself because his legs are still a little wobbly but he’s embarrassed and worried and more than a little freaked out so he just has to go. 

“Stiles…” Derek growls, warningly. 

“Derek…” Stiles lowers his voice and mimics Derek with a lopsided grin, “good night.” 

He tries not to skip over to his jeep at the tiny victory even as he swears he hears a low growl coming from the porch. 

…

His dreams are blissfully quiet that night and Stiles sleeps soundly for the first time in what feels like a long time. 

…

The peace doesn’t last long though.

…

 _There’s noise, Stiles can’t work it out, can’t work out what’s what, all he feels is pain, confusion and he can smell wolf. It’s not the pack though, he can sense that, it’s another wolf, a lick of familiarity courses across the back of his neck, someone, _something_ else and fear licks up his spine. Fear for his pack, for himself. He tastes tarmac and gasoline, feels rain against his face and there’s a growl and the sense that they’re here for his pack. There’s pain in his side as he feels his flesh part beneath claws. _

Stiles wakes with a start, blankets twisted around his legs and his brain pounding behind his eyes. 

…

“There’s another pack,” Stiles bursts into the Hale house and Erica looks up from her open book with a frown on her face. Stiles head spins with pain, it’s been like that since he woke up from the dream and sat with his knees against his chest until the light started filtering through his bedroom window. 

“Well yeah…there are always going to be other packs…” Erica starts, closing her book and Stiles catches the front cover of one of their History books. 

“No here…in Beacon Hills,” Erica’s eyes widen, “they’re coming for Derek,” the colour drains from her face and she’s next to him ushering him into the kitchen before he can even blink. 

“Did you see it?” She pushes him into one of the chairs and Stiles is vaguely aware of the sound of running water. Then a glass is placed in front of him and Erica holds out two pills in her hand. 

“See it?” he grimaces as he swallows the pills, and wonders briefly how the hell he made it over here without crashing his jeep. “I felt it, smelled it, heard it…and man I even tasted it…” Erica’s face is blank, “yes I saw it.” He sighs and draws circles against his temples. 

“Where?” Derek’s voice drifts from the doorway and Stiles lifts his head. 

“I haven’t got a handle on that yet,” Stiles says, “it’s all just a bunch of crazy images right now and by the way, I really don’t appreciate having to see everything through your eyes ok? It’s like I’m you and it creeps me out because I’m not you…so…yeah,” Stiles trails off at the look on Derek’s face. 

“What did you see?” 

“Please tell me I’m going crazy,” Stiles pleads and Erica’s face crumples as she slides into the seat next to him, “I think I could handle that better,” Derek makes a face and runs his hand through his hair. 

“You’re not going crazy Batman,” Erica pats his shoulder sympathetically. 

“But…”

“Nope,” Erica smiles and slips out of her chair and the room with a low quiet growl from Derek. 

“What did you see?” Derek asks, his voice quiet, surprisingly gentle and Stiles sighs. 

“I don’t kn…”

“Think,” Derek interrupts Stiles’s whine with a hand on his knee. Stiles tries not to jump at the contact, concentrates on the warmth seeping through his jeans. He sighs again, closes his eyes. 

_Something growls from the shadows, it’s not pack, he can feel that, smell it, it’s darker than that, more dangerous, familiar though. There’s a flash of red eyes, a streak of movement through the rain and then an explosion of pain from his side as he goes down, claws ripping into his flesh._

“Fuck,” Derek’s hands are around his face, eyes searching Stiles’s and he opens them. There’s worry etched on Derek’s face, and a hint of guilt and Stiles curls his fingers around Derek’s wrist. “They hurt you.”

“Who does?” 

“An Alpha…I think,” Derek’s hands slide off Stiles’s face and Stiles is reluctant to let go of his wrists. But he does and Derek runs a hand through his hair. 

“Where?” 

“Downtown, behind…” Stiles closes his eyes again and see the neon green sign, “ _Jungle_.” 

“When?” Stiles shakes his head slightly. _It’s raining, the street at the end of the Alley is busy, people spilling out from bars and clubs, and there’s a sign,_ Friday Night _the rest is obscured by a large white banner stuck across it that reads_ TONIGHT.

“Tonight.” 

“Go home,” Derek orders as he stands and all traces of the gentle worried Derek are gone. 

“Derek I can…”

“I said go home,” he glares at Stiles. Normally Stiles would argue, yell, tell him to stick his “go home” where the sun don’t fucking shine. But his head is pounding and his eyes feel like they’re about to fall out of his skull. And speaking of his skull, it feels cracked and broken and he presses the heels of his hands to his temples. 

“Fine.” There’re noises of movement around the house, the bang of feet against the stairs and Derek goes to leave the kitchen. It’s not the first time he’s left Stiles here to make his own way home. But it’s the first time he’s touched Stiles like that. Stiles rubs at his cheek with the back of his hand. “Wait Derek.” 

Derek turns, irritation on his face as the pack appears over his shoulder. 

“It’s…” he shakes his head trying to explain, “there’s something familiar about it…about them, and I think there’s more than one,” Stiles says, dread flooding his veins and he stands, wobbles on his unsteady legs once and Derek twitches like he’s going to help. 

“More than one Alpha?”

“I dunno, I just…” Stiles shakes his head and Derek is there again, the soft look on his face, “there’s just more than one.” 

Erica curls one corner of her mouth like she does when she’s trying to be sympathetic and Derek pats him on the shoulder. Stiles blinks and the pack is gone. 

…

It’s not like he’s worried. He’s totally not. He paces him room and bites his nails a lot of the time. 

But the thing is, he’s totally worried. The packs not that old, or so he’s heard people say, people like Gerard, Chris, Deaton and even Peter, who’s still creeping around and sticking his sassy nose into everyone’s business. It’s small, the pack, and there are still cracks where there should be strong bonds.

Jackson’s more a part of it than he wants to admit, (he’s still resisting Derek even after becoming a real wolf, but he was there tonight, and there when Derek was hurt), Lydia…well Lydia is still Lydia but there’s something there which makes her growl when she’s angry, her eyes flashing dangerously. They almost make a perfect couple. Still going strong despite what everyone thought. And Stiles is more than over his crush, content with just having Lydia on his side. 

There’s still a hint of hurt and distrust between Derek and Erica and Boyd. Just a hint, but Erica tells Stiles about it whenever she sees him, wonders how the hell she’s ever going to make up running away to him. Stiles has said on more than one occasion that saving Derek from the Alpha pack is enough. She never listens. 

Stiles rakes his hands through his hair, his headache has dulled slightly, pounding gently each time his heart beats and he can’t stand the near incessant buzzing in his head, the need to do something, _anything_. 

He finds himself at the Lacrosse field without even realising what he was doing. The moon is high, not quite full yet but large and the sky is clear around it like it’s burned away the clouds somehow. There’s still a threat of rain in the air though, the smell, the heavy feeling in his chest he gets just before a storm and he’s not sure if it’s the rain or the visions that’s making him feel like he cant breathe. 

His Lacrosse stick is still in the back of his jeep and Stiles digs through the detritus, pulls it out, and manages to find a ball that’s somehow gotten stuck inside one of his old shoes. 

It’s like he finds his zone once the sticks in his hand, like he can concentrate, and after winning that match, the night Jackson got turned and Gerard disappeared, Lacrosse had been one of the only things to make his mind quiet, the one thing that had made him almost forget that he’d lost his best friend. 

He doesn’t hear the rumble of the car, just sees the headlights slide across the field and he turns, blinks into the beams as Scott gets out and the lights dim. 

“I thought you might be here,” Scott says, shoving his hands into his pockets. He’s got that look on his face like he wants to say something and Stiles is suddenly painfully aware that Scott knows. 

“Who told you?” he says and Scott lets out a huff of a laugh, catching the ball Stiles sends up into the air one handed and curling his fingers around it. 

“Isaac…he told me everything,” Scott looks apologetic, but worried and Stiles nods once, stabbing the end of his stick into the damp ground. 

“Course he did,” he grumbles and cant help the sting of jealousy at Scott and Isaac’s friendship. Scott takes a step forward. 

“Look, I know you’re still mad at me but…can you not be?” Scott asks and Stiles lets out his own laugh. 

“You think I like being mad at you?” Stiles can hear his own voice rising, the ridiculousness of Scott’s request, the… _Scott-ness_ of it making hysteria rise in his throat. 

“Do you?” Scott counters and Stiles blinks. 

“No…I hate it,” he admits and Scott shrugs like he always used to do when he was at a loss for words. 

“Well then…” 

“It’s not that simple Scott,” Stiles runs his hand through his hair and Scott sighs heavily. 

“I did what I did for everyone Stiles, you included,” the tone in his voice suggests he’s had this conversation before, the pleading irritation. 

“I know,” Stiles admits again and Scott blinks this time. 

“Gerard…”

“I can still see his face…” Stiles interrupts and the colour drains from Scott’s face. “When I close my eyes, I mean we’ve seen scarier things, Jackson naked on more than one occasion being one of them,” Scott grimaces with a small smile, “but…there was nothing behind his eyes Scott…nothing, and that scared that crap out of me,” Stiles shrugs, fight and hysteria bleeding out of him as he remembers telling Scott that he wanted to help but he couldn’t, all those years ago at the edge of this very field, with images of his dad hurt in his head. 

“Stiles…at the risk of sounding totally gay, I miss you,” Scott makes a face like it pains him to say it and Stiles feels a laugh bubble up his throat. He lets it go, laughs, a full on belly laugh that hurts his head and makes Scott look at him like he’s insane. Stiles claps him on the shoulder and Scott’s face breaks out into a smile. 

“I miss you too man…” and he does, he really does, misses the banter and the knowledge that there was always someone there for him, “gimme a bit to get over my pissy fit?” Stiles says and Scott nods, his face sobering from grin to serious in an instant. 

“Feel like telling me what the hell is going on?” 

“Not really but I guess I should.” 

…

It starts to rain as Stiles is telling Scott about his latest vision, the sky growing darker as the heavy clouds move in front of the moon and Stiles slips off the hood of his jeep, gives Scott an awkward hug that lasts a little bit too long as Scott breathes him in like he’s missed his scent. Stiles pulls away and mutters something about werewolves and their freaky noses and Scott laughs, punches him in the shoulder, gets in his car and drives off with the promise of coming by tomorrow. Stiles lets the rain pour down his face for a moment, licks it off his lips as his head pounds gently behind his eyelids. 

He’s just pulling his jeep into his driveway when his phone vibrates against his thigh. 

_we need you_. 

It’s Erica and Stiles’s heart constricts in his chest as he pulls his jeep back onto the road and drives to the Hale house with a horrible, heavy sense of de ja vu. 

…

Stiles finds himself hauled in through the front door and his body used to slam it. His head bounces against the wood and he dimly hears Erica, Isaac, Boyd and Jackson snarling at someone. 

“Stop,” Derek all but groans, although there’s an angry snarl in his pained voice and Stiles’s vision returns to normal to be greeted by a pair of glowing red eyes that are suddenly painfully familiar. He panics. Of course he does because the last time he saw those eyes was in his head, hiding, ready to pounce on Derek from the shadows. 

“Derek…that’s him,” Stiles twists, struggles, and the grip on his arms gets tighter. 

“I said... _stop_ ,” Stiles can see Derek struggle to his feet from the bottom step, his knuckles white against the dark wood. The grip relaxes. “Stiles…it wasn’t him…he didn’t…” Derek sways and Erica is at his side. He snarls, she lets out a quiet whine but doesn’t let him go. 

“What the hell is going on?” Stiles feels like he’s been saying that a lot recently, or everyone has, and he feels the hysteria bubbling up his throat again. 

“Hi Stiles,” red eyes says and takes a step back towards Stiles, his eyes normal. Well, normal if you call one blue, one brown eye normal. “So great to see you again.”

“Nice to see you to…what the hell is he doing here?” he demands pointing at Ethan and trying to push aside the painful memories of Ethan and the rest of his Alpha pack trying to rip them apart two yeas ago. Ethan and his twin, Aidan, and the rest of his Alpha pack. Scott had nearly died, Jackson too, Erica and Boyd had nearly left. The guy standing in front of Stiles had nearly taken precious people from Stiles’s life and had somehow just waltz back into it. 

“Still feisty, I see,” Ethan grins and there’s a quiet rumble from Derek. Ethan holds up his hands and backs away and Stiles looks between the two alphas. 

“Ok…enough macho bullshit…what the hell is he doing here, what the hell happened, what hurt Derek, and why the hell am _I_ here anyway?” Derek pushes away from Erica, sways but stays on his feet, he lifts his shirt and there’re a couple of large gashes down his side. It’s horrible and Stiles winces, remembers the feel of claws in his own flesh. He’s by Derek’s side before he even realises that his feet are moving. 

“What was it?” Stiles ask, prodding experimentally at the wound. Derek growls, and his muscles twitch as he flinches away. Stiles resists the urge to call him a baby and stands straight. 

“Aidan,” Derek says, “Ethan came here looking for him,” Ethan crosses his arms over his chest, there’s a protectiveness in his stance that Stiles recognises, but also an anger lurking under his skin. “Apparently he’s gone rogue.” 

“Also came to check out the new Hale pack seer,” Ethan offers, nodding in Stiles’s direction, more to take the attention off himself than anything. “When the hell did you get so special Stiles?” Stiles frowns and feels Derek vibrate under his hands. 

“Wow news travels fast in your lupine community doesn’t it. Derek…kitchen, Erica, first aid box,” Derek raises an eyebrow but stumbles into the kitchen and manages to get himself into a chair without falling over. Stiles drops to his knees as Erica slides the box in front of him. 

“Why isn’t he healing?” Erica asks, her voice quiet and worried and Stiles runs his fingers across the back of her hand briefly. 

“Alpha wounds take longer to heal, you know that,” he pulls out peroxide and looks up apologetically at Derek before pouring it onto his skin. Derek howls and his pack cowers, caught between wanting to help and staying away from their angry Alpha. This time Stiles doesn’t resist. “Baby.” 

“Can I ask the obvious question?” Ethan asks from his place lounging against the door frame. “Why do you have a human giving you all orders? He certainly wasn’t giving the order two years ago?”

“Did you even stop to notice two years ago?” Stiles snaps, his fingers tightening against Derek’s skin. Derek grunts and his muscles move under his skin as he tries to get away from Stiles. 

“He’s not just a human,” Isaac growls softly, “he’s Stiles.” Like that’s meant to answer everything. Stiles feels a rush of emotion and finds some bandages in the box. Derek’s skin is glistening with sweat and his breathing’s heavy. Stiles lays a hand flat against his stomach. 

“Thanks Isaac,” Stiles looks up at Ethan as Derek’s hand covers his own and something like realisation flickers across Ethan’s face. “Can I ask you the obvious question? Why’s Aidan gone rogue? Weren’t you guys all weirdly incestuous?” Anger flits across Ethan’s face but Stiles ploughs on through his questions, “and why did he hurt Derek? I thought we had a truce?”

The truce had been tentative, Peter’s hand around Aidan’s and Ethan’s true Alpha. The one who seemed to be noticeably missing right now. They had managed to get the Alpha pack off their land, chased them back to whatever Hell they came from without loosing anyone. The conditions of the Truce were simple, stay away from each other unless help was needed. Stiles presses a pad of bandages to Derek’s skin and Derek’s hand reaches out to cover his. 

“Technically that’s five questions,” Ethan says crossing his arms over his chest and Derek huffs from beside Stiles, his finger tightening around Stiles’s. “And maybe one day I’ll tell you, right now you don’t need to know.” 

“Don’t need to know?” Stiles asks incredulously, standing up and Derek keeps a hold on his fingers, it’s loose but Stiles gets the point, “your brother hurt…” he pauses unable to decide how to describe Derek.

“Your Alpha?” Ethan raises an eyebrow. “You’re not Pack, unless something drastic happened to you since I was last here,” Ethan sneers and Derek growls under his breath, it’s weak and Stiles can hear the pain in it. 

“Well apparently now I am pack,” Stile spits at Ethan and Derek flinches under Stiles’s hand. Stiles crouches back down, pokes gently at the skin and Derek growls again, “what with these visions so…yeah, he hurt my Alpha, I _do_ need to know,” he looks up at Ethan who looks amused at the same time as insulted that someone has the audacity to talk to him like that. Erica takes a step forward behind him, placing her hands on the back of the chair that Derek’s slumped in. Ethan shrugs. 

“Right, I know when I’m not wanted. I’ll leave you to your horrible domestic healing rituals, I have my own pack to look after. We’ll talk tomorrow Derek…Stiles…” Ethan bows with a flourish that wouldn’t look out of place in some crappy bodice ripper historical romance tv drama and disappears from the doorway. 

“I hate him,” Stiles grumbles, “I hated him two years ago I hate him now. Where the hell is his Alpha anyway?” Derek grunts again and Stiles notices the light sheen of sweat across his upper lip, “Derek can you stand?” 

“Course I can stand,” Derek growls although his voice is weak and he doesn’t move, just continues to rub his thumb across the back of Stiles’s hand like he doesn’t even know that he’s doing it. 

“Well could you? I may have filled out a bit since you first met me but there’s no way I can lift you by myself,” Derek huffs, groans as he pushes himself upright and Stiles tries not to laugh at the minute hint of satisfaction on his face. 

Stiles manages to patch him up the best he can, wrapping the bandage around his waist and trying to ignore the way his skin feels under his fingers. 

He’s tired, that must be it. Otherwise he certainly wouldn’t notice the way Derek’s muscles move under his skin. He’s hardly spoken to the guy to be honest, the most their conversations have been were thinly veiled threats and bouts of sarcasm, the occasional bit of physical abuse. But now Stiles feels drawn to him, feels the need to touch him, to make him better. To never let Derek feel the pain of Stiles’s vision again. 

“Guys, can you get him upstairs?” Stiles asks, regretfully sliding his hands off Derek’s skin. Derek looks at him, expression blank as Boyd and Isaac move together, hauling one arm each over their shoulders. Derek grumbles, protests, but goes easily enough and Stiles lowers himself into one of the kitchen chairs. Jackson claps him on the shoulder in a show of rare solidarity, nods to Erica and slips out of the house, looking tired and desperate for a bed. 

“Coffee?” Erica offers, worry etched on to her face as she watches Jackson through the kitchen window, disappear into the trees. Stiles smiles gratefully. 

“Then you can tell me what happened,” he says as she fills the kettle. 

…

Stiles ends up sleeping on the couch, passing out after Erica explains that yes, as far as they are aware, Ethan really is there to find Aidan, and no, it wasn’t Ethan who hurt Derek. He feels Erica pull the blanket off the back of the couch and press a kiss to his forehead. He mutters something about not being a child and Erica laughs, runs her hands through his hair. 

“Yes you are.” 

Stiles dreams of Derek that night. But it’s not pain and hurt that weave their way through the images, it’s not a vision, its just Derek and he wakes, hours later, the cold light of dawn creeping through the thin curtains, with nothing other than the taste of coffee and something he can’t quite define in his mouth, and a gentle buzz of warmth under his skin. 

There’s a clack of china hitting china from the kitchen, muted through the sleep haze still fuzzing in Stiles’s head, and a muttered curse and Stiles crawls off the couch, stumbles into the kitchen rubbing the sleep from his eyes. 

“Sorry,” Derek mutters and hands a mug of steaming coffee to him. Stiles grins sleepily and wraps his hands around it. Derek looks better, the grey has gone from his skin, the dark circles under his eyes aren’t quite so dark and the gash on his side is still red and black, but it looks better than last night. Stiles takes a gulp of coffee, scalding his throat as he swallows and slides the mug onto the counter and takes a step towards Derek. Derek freezes, like he expects a fight, and Stiles frowns, lifts his hand like he’s surrendering, like he’s stepping up to a wild animal. Derek blinks, he face impassive and then shrugs and Stiles gently presses his fingers into the pink skin around the wound. There’s a twitch in Derek’s muscles but he relaxes minutely when Stiles makes a pleased noise in the back of his throat. 

“Must be not healing as fast because its Ethan. Because it doesn’t look infected…can you even get infections? Like tetanus? Or Hepatitis?”

“Stiles…”

“Yeah, I know, shut up,” Stiles runs a hand across his face. Derek cocks his head to the side, surveying him and Stiles shifts under his heavy gaze. He doesn’t know when they became this easy in each other’s company. They’ve gone from nothing to almost friends in the space of a week and although it feels almost natural and comfortable, Stiles can’t help but feel a little apprehensive about the whole thing. 

“How are you?” Derek asks suddenly. It’s so out of left field, so unlike Derek, and mixed with the genuine concern on Derek’s face, it makes Stiles’s knees give way and he sits heavily on one of the kitchen chairs. Derek raises an eyebrow. 

“I’m fine,” Stiles replies and the eyebrow arches even higher. 

“Liar,” Derek mutters, but there’s a slight smile tugging at the corner of his lips. 

“What? Is my heart doing the weird jumping thing? Or do you just _know_?” Stiles smiles back at him. Derek cocks his head to the side and shrugs. 

“Call it a hunch,” there’s something under those words, under his suddenly heavy, meaningful gaze, like the mutter of an out of tune radio turned right down and Stiles shakes his head slightly, the heat from the mug seeping into his palm. 

“Alright Hunchy McFee,” Derek pulls a face at the nickname and Stiles nearly laugh, “feel like telling me about Ethan?” Derek pulls a chair out and sits, his knees bumps into Stiles’s. 

“Ethan’s the Alpha of the Alpha pack now,” Derek starts.

“I got that,” Stiles interrupts and Derek rolls his eyes. 

“Like he said, he came here tracking Aidan,” a shadow passes over Derek’s face but its gone as soon as Stiles blinks. 

“You’re hiding something, and I don’t have to have super werewolf hearing to know that,” Stiles wags a finger in his direction and Derek frowns, lowers his gaze to a small scratch in the table top. 

“He also came to check out my pack…again,” Derek says, running his index finger nail over the groove and Stiles doesn’t know if that’s what Derek’s hiding or not, “Older, stronger Alpha’s always do that, they try to make themselves stronger by taking over a smaller, weaker pack,” Derek explains, shrugging like it’s no big deal that Ethan could take the Pack from Derek. 

“He’s not older than you,” Stiles protests and Derek shrugs slightly. 

“He was born an Alpha, I wasn’t. The Pack, _me_? I’m weak compared to him.” 

“You’re not…” Stiles starts, shaking his head and reaching out. 

“Compared to him I am,” Derek says, leaning back and crossing his arms, effectively putting enough distance between them that Stiles gets the message. 

“Derek,” he says and Derek frowns again, the shadow passing over his face one more time. 

“He also came here looking for you,” Stiles’s blood does not freeze right then, his heart does not squeeze in his chest. Nope. 

“Why though?” He croaks out, “Is he going to kidnap me and take out my eyes, sell them to the highest bidder?” Stiles jokes weakly. 

“The Hale pack has always had a…visionary,” Derek raises an eyebrow and Stiles lets out a small, bitter laugh, “he must have assumed I’d have one too. You’re something of a commodity, he would take you if I let him.” There’s something about the shrug, the casual way he says it that makes Stiles angry, that makes Stiles think that Derek doesn’t give a shit about any of this, doesn’t care the visions are splitting Stiles’s skull practically in half each time they happen, that Stiles is terrified out of his mind about them. That he’s now on other Pack’s radars.

“A commodity?” Stiles asks and Derek frowns like he doesn’t get it, doesn’t get that he just implied Stiles was a weapon, chattel. 

“Stiles,” he tries and Stiles shakes his head. 

“No…that’s fine…totally get it. Nothing but a tool to you,” Stiles shrugs sarcastically and stands, shoves his hands into his pockets and leans back against the kitchen counter. Derek stands too, twitches like he wants to reach out and touch Stiles. 

“That’s not it,” Derek tries again, shaking his head and pulling his hands back like he’s thought better of touching. 

“So Ethan then,” Stiles interrupts and Derek sighs but lets Stiles continue, “why did Aidan go rouge when Ethan’s such a nice guy?” Derek’s lips twitch like he wants to smile at Stiles’s sarcasm and he touches his side, almost unconsciously and it strikes Stiles that it must pitch his world under his feet that he’s hurt and not healing. He feels a rush of sympathy. 

“I have no idea. Ethan’s not talking,” Derek frowns and something akin to fear colours his eyes. 

“I sent you there,” Stiles mutters and Derek shakes his head. 

“No, don’t you do that, this isn’t your fault,” Derek says vehemently, reaching out and going to touch Stiles. He thinks better of it again and shoves his hands into his pockets. His jeans dip low on his hips. 

“But it is though,” Stiles protests, reaching back and gripping his fingers around the edge of the counter. 

“No,” Derek shakes his head again, reaches out one more time and actually touches Stiles, curls his fingers around Stiles’s wrist, “this isn’t your fault.” Derek’s fingers are warm, a point of heat against his pulse, steady like he’s grounding Stiles and Stiles is almost disappointed when he uncurls his fingers and rubs his hands against his jeans. 

“I should probably go,” Stiles mutters, running his hand through his hair, Derek nods once. “Will you…get Erica to call me if you hear anything?” Stiles asks and Derek nods again, stands back as Stiles pushes himself off the counter. 

Stiles’s halfway to the front door when he hears, “Stiles…”. He turns and Derek’s standing with his hand gripped around the banister at the foot of the stairs, “You get another vision you call me. Just…don’t do anything stupid ok?” Stiles grins.

“Have you met me?” 

…

It’s not like he does it intentionally, he really doesn’t. But he’s starting to think that maybe he’s a magnet for trouble of something, like he’s got a great big Trouble Target painted in the middle of his forehead, or on his back. Because it just seems to find him, no matter what he does. 

Of course, it might have something to do with the crippling headache that comes with a vision and wont go away until he’s done something about it. 

But right now he’s got a cut on his forehead the size of Texas and he’s pretty sure he dislocated his pinky finger, it’s hanging off at an odd angle anyway, so it’s either that or it’s broken beyond repair. 

All because of a vision of some kid getting mauled by…well Stiles isn’t exactly sure what it is but it’s gross and slimy. He managed find the kid this time, Deaton would have been proud, closing his eyes and just focusing. He found him and managed to haul him out of the way before he got hurt, but not before Stiles had been thrown to one side like he weighed the same as a small leaf. And there was no way Stiles was going to fight that thing, no on his own, he’s not that stupid, so he grabbed the kid and ran, ducked, weaved, finally made it to a safe hiding place and managed to catch his breath. That was when the kid pointed out the cut on his head and the pinky finger. 

He’s pretty impressed with himself that he didn’t pass out. 

He’s even more impressed with himself that he managed to drive the kid home and then himself to Derek’s house with one hand. 

Erica’s hauling him out of the jeep before he even manages to turn the ignition. 

“What happened?” She demands, but there’s worry all over her face and she looks Stiles up and down. 

“Ok ow ow ow,” Stiles complains and holds up his hand and Erica grimaces. 

“Inside,” she points and Stiles doesn’t argue. 

“Hey Der…” Stiles starts once he’s in the kitchen facing a Derek with a face like thunder.

“Sit,” Derek interrupts and again Stiles doesn’t argue. This Derek he knows, this angry, silent Derek, big bad Alpha Wolf Derek. This Derek he can handle. The quiet, almost gentle, worried Derek he’s not used to. 

“Hey if someone could get me something for this,” he points to his forehead which throbs gently, “and deal with this,” he holds up his hand, “that would be _awesome_.” Derek growls in the back of his throat. “Ok…grumpy…kinda in pain here.”

“And who’s fault is that?” Derek growls, throwing a glare and a head nod at Erica. Erica slides the first aid box that Stiles had become surprisingly familiar with across the table and leaves. 

“Whichever dickhead decided giving me these stupid ass visions was a good idea,” Stiles counters, his voice rising with indignation and anger. 

“You’re human Stiles,” Derek says, throws the words in his face and Stiles feels his blood boil under his skin. 

“I know!” he practically shouts, “I fucking know ok.”

“Human, pathetic…weak,” Derek spits the last word out like it tastes disgusting and Stiles wants to punch him. 

“I am may be weak, Derek, but I am _not_ going to sit by whilst these people…OW….motherfucker…shit…what the hell was that?” Stiles cradles his hand against his chest and Derek curls one corner of his mouth upwards. Stiles had been so angry he hadn’t even seen Derek move, hadn’t even felt his grip around his hand under there was a flash of pain and his pinky finger was suddenly back where it should have been. 

“Had to make you angry…no anaesthetic,” he shrugs apologetically and Stiles lets out a shaky breath. 

“Yeah well…it worked, congratulations.” Derek reaches into the box and pulls out disinfectant and pours some onto a ball of cotton wool. 

“I don’t think you’re weak Stiles,” he says quietly, reaching out and dabbing at Stiles’s skin. Stiles hisses in a breath between his teeth. “I think you’re stupid.”

Stiles doesn’t say anything, because dammit, Derek’s right. He is stupid, but if being stupid is what helps him save people then he’s going to continue being stupid thank you very much. 

He must say as much out loud as he stands and leans back against the counter, his head resting on the cupboards above it, because Derek glares at him, stalks towards him and draws his hand back like he’s going to punch him. 

“Dammit Stiles,” Derek growls as he lets his fist fall to the cabinet behind Stiles’s head, and Stiles can’t help the hitch in his breathing or the way his heart speeds up with adrenaline. Derek drops his hand, brushes the tips of his fingers against the cut on Stiles’s forehead and for one second, as Derek’s gaze flicks down to Stiles’s parted lips, he thinks Derek’s going to kiss him. 

And the thought doesn’t terrify him or confused him like it should. 

Derek’s nostrils twitch, his eyes narrow slightly and Stiles can’t help but push forward, just a hint of movement, and he doesn’t really know what he’s doing, he’s not sure of anything right now. Derek closes his eyes and steps away and Stiles feels his stomach cramp with… _disappointment_ of all things. 

“You can’t just go barging into things like that,” Derek says and he looks more than a little rattled as he drags his hands through his hair. 

“Why not? No one else will. Do you a have any idea how many people out there need help? Don’t even get me started on how many things are out there that I _never_ wanted to realise actually existed…while we’re on the subject, do vampires exist because I might just kill myself right now if they do,” Stiles trails off at the look of pure anger on Derek’s face. 

“No,” Derek snaps and Stiles resists the urge to push it, to ask what he’s saying no about. “You are not putting yourself through this.” 

Stiles wants to stamp his foot, wants to punch Derek in the face, shake him till his brain wobbles in his skull and he gets what Stiles is trying to say. 

“You can’t order me around Derek, I’m not pack.”

“You’re not putting yourself through this…” Stiles is just about to shout again when Derek lets out one last word, “ _alone_.” 

Stiles has enough time to let his mouth drop open at Derek’s words before Derek’s back in front of him, taping a butterfly strip across the gash in his head and anything Stiles was going to say gets stuck at the soft look on his face. 

“I’ll help you,” he says and Stiles hears his mouth clack shut. Derek’s gaze flicks down, back up again and Stiles swallows as Derek’s nostrils twitch. 

“Why?” Derek cocks his head to the side as he presses his fingers lightly to the strips against Stiles forehead. Stiles still has no idea what the hell is going on, why he doesn’t feel the spike of fear he usually does when Derek’s this close, why his skin feels like there’s a small electric current running underneath it. Why he suddenly has the urge to find out if Derek’s lips are as soft as they look. 

“Because…” Derek starts, leaning forward an inch. He freezes though just as Peter strolls into the kitchen like he owns the place. Which…basically he does. Peter takes one look at Stiles trapped between a rock and a hard place, the hard place being Derek, and twitches his nostrils like he can smell something in the air. 

“Interrupting?” Peter smirks. There’s a rumble in Derek’s chest as he steps back from Stiles and glares at his uncle across the room. 

“Yes actually,” Stiles snaps, he’s never been very fond of Peter, ever since he bit Lydia in front of Stiles, ever since he curled his fingers around Stiles’s wrist and offered to bite him. Stiles shudders involuntarily and Peter smirks at him like he knows what Stiles is thinking. 

“Too bad…I need to talk to Derek,” Peter narrows his gaze at Stiles. He glances at Derek who nods once. 

“Fine…I’ll just go home and nurse my broken head and my dislocated finger and wonder what the hell I am going to do with these stupid visions,” Stiles grumbles and goes to walk past Peter. His hand reaches out and curls around the top of Stiles’s arm. 

“Stay out of trouble for the time being would you?” He says and Stiles blinks. 

“Anyone would think you care,” he says, wrenching his arm out of Peter’s grasp. Peter snorts. 

“No…but other people do.” 

…

It’s like a mosquito bite. It can be there for ages before something brushes over it and then it’s the itchiest mother fucker in the entire world and you scratch and scratch and scratch until it bleeds. 

That’s the problem with Derek. Or the problem with wondering whether Derek was actually going to kiss him or not. Stiles cant stop thinking about it, cant stop imagining what it would be like to feel hard lips against his own rather than soft strawberry flavoured ones. Or to feel stubble scraping against his jawline, large calloused hands cupping at his face. 

He dreams of Derek again and is mortified when he wakes up rock hard, covered in a sheen of sweat. 

He’s even more mortified when he has to deal with himself in the shower, and his orgasm tastes like leather in his mouth. 

…

The thing about the visions are, that not only they hurt like a bitch, which they do, by the way. But that they are starting to migrate out of his dreams and into his daily life. 

The first time that happens, Stiles is with Scott, tentatively patching up a potentially broken friendship, like supergluing together a shattered glass. It’ll take a while but after a few “bro dates” (Scott’s words), it’s starting to resemble the friendship it used to be. 

But it hits, is the point, catches him completely off guard in the middle of the bowling alley, mid throw and the ball goes off in a direction Stiles can’t see because he’s bent double clutching at his head and screaming like a girl (Scott told him that afterwards). 

It’s like someone’s trying to split open his skull with a jackhammer. A total overkill and the most painful thing he’s ever experienced. When he comes back to himself, pain still hammering behind his eyeballs, Scott’s got one arm around him and is practically bent double himself. 

“You ok?” 

“Just…” Stiles takes a deep breath and wills the shaking in his body to stop, “just get me out of here.” 

He’s bundled into his jeep (Scott’s car is still a mechanical death trap that Stiles refuses to go anywhere near) and Scott drives him home, throwing worried looks at Stiles the whole way as Stiles leans his head against the cool glass and goes over the images until they’re burned into the back of his eyes. 

“What did you see?” Scott asks as he pulls the jeep over onto the side of the road a few minutes later. 

“Um…” Stiles closes his eyes, lets the flashes of images filter back into his mind, “Isaac…he’s um…he’s scared,” Stiles reaches out and clamps his hand around Scott’s knee. Scott jumps. “Drive.” 

“Did you see where?” Scott asks pulling the car back onto the road and flooring the gas pedal. 

“No…just…just drive,” Stiles scans the road, the streets peeling off to the left and right, Isaac’s fear seeping into his veins like a damp chill, until he sees a road that’s painfully familiar. “Right…now, now, now,” Scott jerks at the wheel, the tyres screech on the tarmac but they make it and Scott floors the pedal again until Stiles shouts stops and they both practically fly through the windshield. 

Stiles is out of the door before the car’s even at a complete halt, vaguely aware of Scott calling after him and then running past him. Stiles had forgotten how fast Scott can be when he wants to be. 

Scott stops suddenly, stands straight and sniffs at the air, turns to Stiles and his eyes flash amber in the semi darkness. 

“Where is he?” 

“I dunno…I…” Stiles is interrupted by a howl of pain and Scott bolts to his left, wrenches a door of some abandoned building off its hinges and disappears inside. 

Isaac is hurt, Stiles can feel that now, and he doesn’t take the time to wonder how the hell he can feel the pain, just hopes it’s some latent memory of the vision. But Isaac’s in pain, and Scott’s crouching by him when Stiles finds them. 

“Stay still,” Scott growls and Isaac growls back, eyes glowing as Scott fiddles with something between him and Stiles’s vision. Scott stills for a second, his hand around Isaac’s knee and Isaac calms, blinking slowly once before nodding, his eyes retuning to normal. 

“What happened?” 

“Bear trap, laced with wolfsbane,” Isaac pants, grimaces, howls as Scott twists the trap between his hands and mutters a _sorry_ quietly, “Argents are breaking the code all over town, setting traps, and…dammit…I just walked into this. Thought they were coming,” Isaac swallows and Stiles pinches the bridge of his nose before crouching and battling Scott’s hands away. 

“Like this,” Stiles shows him, presses his hand to the pan of the trap and pushes. The teeth spring open, “move.” Isaac moves and Stiles lets the trap snap shut again. “Not to state the obvious Scott, but your girlfriend’s family is psychotic.” Scott grimaces, and there’s pain under his eyes and Stiles suddenly feels guilt at leaving his best friend to deal with a breakup like that all alone. He claps Scott on the shoulder, stands, and helps Isaac, who’s already healing, to his feet. “Ok we need to get out of here. You need a lift?” 

…

“How many times do I have to tell you?” Stiles’s head hits the back of the door as Derek hauls him through it and growls in his face. 

“Ok, a) Ow, b) you only told me once, you need to tell me at least another three times and c)…Ow,” Stiles pushes at Derek’s chest. Derek resists for a moment before stepping back, but there’s still an angry tension in his jawline, and the muscles undulate as he clenches his teeth. “Stop brooding,” Stiles snaps and almost laughs at the shocked expression on Derek’s face, “I have a headache like you wouldn’t believe and Isaac’s safe ok so could you spare your lecture for tomorrow? Or like… _never_.” Stiles makes his way into the kitchen, and he can feel Derek follow him. 

“Why are you intent on killing yourself? Hasn’t your dad been through enough,” Stiles doesn’t even think, just reacts, spins, pulls his arm back and punches Derek in the jaw. It hurts, _my god_ , it hurts, but it also feels really, really good when Derek recoils, clutching at his jaw. Probably more in shock than pain, but Stiles will take anything right now. 

“Don’t you dare…you have no idea…”

“Don’t I? You think I don’t want to run off into danger at every opportunity? You think I don’t think about just lying down and letting the bad guys come every single fucking day?” Derek’s crowding into Stiles again, pressing him back against the counter of his kitchen and Stiles stiffens. “I said I would help Stiles. Why don’t you just fucking take it?” 

“You weren’t there…” and then Derek’s kissing him. 

Derek Hale is kissing Stiles Stilinski. In Derek’s kitchen. 

It takes a second or two for Stiles to figure out what the hell is going on, Derek’s hands cupping roughly at his face, the hard long lines of his body pressed hot against Stiles’s, the thigh that slips between Stiles’s own, but once he’s all caught up, Stiles kisses right back. Curls his hands into Derek’s t-shirt and kisses back with as much anger as Derek is kissing him. Hard, more like fighting than anything, like this is just another way of arguing for Derek. 

Derek groans, his fingers dig into the back of Stiles’s neck as he drags his teeth over Stiles’s lower lip. Stiles feels his hands slide down Derek’s sides, up under his t-shirt and he digs his nails into Derek’s back and Derek hisses in to his mouth. 

“Stupid…fucking…idiot,” Derek mutters between nips to Stiles’s lips, pressing his thigh between Stiles’s.

“Pig headed…controlling…bastard,” Stiles mutters back and manages to get enough leverage to push Derek away from him and halfway across the kitchen. Stiles almost laughs at the surprise on Derek’s face, but then Stiles is on him, pushing him back against the kitchen table and pressing himself close. Derek grunts, grabs the back of Stiles’s thighs, lifts him up, spins them again and drops Stiles on to the table. He stops then, presses their foreheads together, drags in a ragged breath and steps back, his head bowed. _No_ , Stiles thinks, reaching for Derek, _don’t stop_. 

“Stiles,” Derek breathes and looks up at him. Stiles can feel the heat in his gaze, can feel Derek’s lips against his own, and he’s pretty sure there is no escaping the fact that his lips look like they’ve been bitten on and the fact that his jeans are uncomfortably tight. His head pounds gently behind his eyes. 

“Um…” Stiles slides off the table. His legs are shaking. 

“I’m sorry,” Derek shakes his head and Stiles frowns, reaches out to him and tries to ignore the stab of hurt when Derek sidesteps out of reach. 

“What are you sorry for?” Stiles asks and Derek raises an eyebrow like it’s obvious, like he didn’t just pitch the world under Stiles’s feet, like he didn’t just show Stiles exactly what the hell he was missing every other time he kissed someone else. 

“For that? I didn’t…”

“No, no you listen to me, ok?” Stiles interrupts and curls his hand around Derek’s wrist, tugging gently. Derek looks up, and there’s amusement and surprise under the blank expression on his face, “don’t you go doing this martyr bullshit ok…I know I don’t have super werewolf strength but I’m pretty sure I could have gotten out of that if I wanted to. I mean, werewolves balls are still sensitive right? Quick knee to the balls and we’re done…right?” Stiles grins and tries not to think about Derek’s balls…and by extension his dick. His own is verging on painful in his pants. 

“Stiles…” Derek shakes his head and Stiles lets go of Derek’s wrist and balls his shirt in his hands, dragging Derek closer. 

“Just…just stop ok?” Derek’s hand covers his own, and he looks down at them, “Stop being such a…”

“Pig headed, controlling bastard?” Derek finishes for him, looking back up at Stiles with a hint of a smile. Stiles smiles back at him and nods. 

“Exactly…look, I have no idea what that was, but I’m…not complaining ok, so…” Derek makes a noise in the back of his throat, lifts his hands to Stiles face and cuts off his words with his lips. It’s gentle this time, like a first kiss should be, just a press of lips and then its over. 

“I think,” Derek murmurs, rubs his cheeks against Stiles’s then pulls away, “I think you should go home.” There’s no malice in his voice, just a gentle pleading and Stiles frowns slightly. He runs a thumb across Stiles’s cheekbone, “I just…” Derek shakes his head and pulls away completely, “I might not let you leave if you don’t go now.” 

Part of Stiles wants to argue, wants to tell Derek he’s not complaining about that, that he doesn’t want to leave, he wants to run his fingertips all over Derek’s body, learn the places that make him squirm, the ones that make him groan, see how his hands would fit perfectly over his ribs. But the other part accepts it, because for his whole life he’s thought about one person and one person only. Lydia Martin. And now Derek Hale’s just kissed him and turned his world upside down. Derek Hale, who is decidedly _not_ Lydia Martin, what with being a man and all. Stiles needs to go home and have a little private freak out about the fact that he got stupidly turned on by kissing a very male Alpha Werewolf in his kitchen, and how he can’t now imagine kissing anyone else but him. 

“Ok,” he nods, shoving his shaky hands into his pockets. There’s still a lingering headache behind his eyes and he licks his lips, tastes Derek on them. Derek watches the movement and Stiles feels his pulse jump. “Right…going…um…bye…” 

“Stiles?” Stiles stops mid step, curls his fingers round the door frame and turns around to find Derek right behind him. It shouldn’t surprise him, but sometimes he forgets how fast Derek can move. Derek lifts a hand and runs the pad of his thumb under Stiles’s eye. “Come round tomorrow, there’s a few things I need to tell you.” 

“Sounds ominous,” Stiles mutters and Derek just nods, slotting the pad of his thumb into the dip under Stiles’s bottom lip. It’s gentle, the gesture, but its full of promise and meaning and Stiles leans into the touch. Derek leans forward and presses his lips to Stiles’s, almost like he cant help himself. It’s brief and he lets Stiles go all too soon. 

“Go get some sleep,” he says, shoving his hands into his pockets again and Stiles grins, mock salutes. 

“Aye, aye Captain.” 

…

“So basically we have nothing?” Stiles is fixed with matching glares from Peter and Ethan and Derek’s face is irritatingly blank. Boyd covers a smirk and Erica elbows him in the ribs. Isaac looks no worse for wear after his bear trap ordeal from the night before. 

Stiles is nursing a rapidly cooling mug of coffee with enough sugar to down an elephant, if too much sugar would down an elephant of course. His lips still tingle with the memory of Derek’s kisses and Peter keeps glancing between both of them like he’s expecting Derek to haul Stiles across the table and have his way with him in front of them all. 

Not that Stiles would mind of course. 

But basically they have nothing. 

Stiles arrived at the Hale house at 10 in the morning, it was the latest he could get there considering he woke up at the crack of dawn with a raging hard on and a head that felt like it had been run over by a steam roller. Ethan was already there, sitting in the kitchen like he owned the place with his feet up on the table. Peter had been growling at him and Derek had been looking like he was just about to slam their heads together. 

Derek’s face had softened though when he saw Stiles, even though there was a hint of worry on it and Stiles had run his hand over his own head and grinned at him. 

But back to the big fat steaming pile of nothing. The twin that hurt Derek, Aidan, that Ethan had tracked here across two states, they still have no idea where he is. He’s hiding his scent from Ethan somehow. But there’s a dead body in the morgue that the Police are calling the result of an animal attack and everyone around the kitchen table, apart from Ethan and his beta’s (although technically Alphas. Beta Alphas? Stiles ponders), have spent too long in Beacon Hills to think an animal attack is just an animal attack. 

The question hanging over the whole morning though is the obvious one that no one seems to want to asks, _why did Aidan run away_? 

Stiles calls Deaton whilst Peter and Ethan are arguing over the laptop again, like the laptop can help find Aidan. But Deaton’s none the wiser either, just tells Stiles that Aidan’s migrated from animals to humans. Stiles sighs and hangs up and feels one strong hand land on his shoulder. 

“Hey,” he turns to Derek who smiles briefly. “Deaton hasn’t seen or heard anything, apart from Aidan’s upgraded to humans.” Derek cocks his head to the side, reaches out and tugs Stiles close by a belt loop, “oh.” 

“Hi,” Derek says quietly. And Stiles is finding it hard to reconcile this Derek, the one with the playful glint in his eyes, with the Derek he thought he knew, the Derek who threatens him with bodily harm and slams him up against hard surfaces. 

“Hi,” Stiles replies and lifts his hand to Derek’s face. Derek kisses him gently, but in a way that’s laden with promise that makes Stiles’s dick twitch in his pants. 

“If you two are done flirting,” Peter shouts from the kitchen and Derek’s jaw muscles twitch as he pulls away. 

“I swear, I’m going to kill him…again,” Derek presses their foreheads together briefly. 

“I heard that.” 

…

Turns out, they work well together. Him and Derek. 

Turns out that not all visions are to do with Derek either. And those ones are just lovely, Stiles would personally like to thank whoever gave him these with a high five…in the face…with a chair. 

He’s getting better at pinpointing the locations though, and giving more information to Derek as soon as the bone crunching pain passes. And Derek’s getting better at allowing someone to work with him. 

They save a kid a couple of towns over that’s being chased by some weird anaconda skunk hybrid. Yes, Stiles is pretty sure that’s exactly what it is although Derek tries to tell him it’s something else. Stiles wasn’t really paying attention due to the fact that Derek’s weight was pressing him into the back of his jeep and Derek’s lips were against his neck. 

They save an old woman from an honest to god Boggart in her basement. Stiles has a good laugh about that the whole way home even as Derek’s fingers drum against the inside of his thigh. 

They don’t touch much other than that, just a few lingering touches here and there, a drag of fingers when others are around, but Derek kisses him sometimes like he wants it to last forever, makes that noise in the back of his throat like he’s dying, leaves Stiles wondering when the hell he became gay for one Derek Hale. He wants more, Stiles does, wants more than heated make out sessions in the back of his jeep, or pointed touches that leave Stiles’s skin tingling. But he doesn’t know how to ask for more, doesn’t know how to reconcile wanting more in his head. 

He sees Scott a lot more, tries not to talk about Derek, but he knows Scott smells him on Stiles, by the way he twitches his nostril and his eyes darken. Scott doesn’t say anything, just hugs Stiles like he’s going to lose him again and talks him through the latest visions. 

They save a bunch of hikers from something that Peter, with a gleam in his eyes, calls a Wendigo. Whatever it was, Stiles never wants to see one again. 

He’s pretty impressed with himself that’s he’s not having a major freakout learning that things _other_ than Werewolves and Kanima’s exist. He still maintains committing ritual suicide if Vampires actually exist though. Tells the whole assembled crew in Derek’s kitchen, one evening after killing a large slime monster that was living in the depth of Beacon Hills and Ethan snorts around his whiskey and tries to look innocent when Derek glares at him. 

Derek consults the Bestiary whenever he can, or makes Stiles do it whilst he leans over Stiles’s shoulder and breathes into Stiles’s neck, occasionally licking at his skin and muttering words against it. They also consult Peter’s laptop. Well, Peter consults the laptop whilst making snarky comments as Stiles glares at him over the top of it. 

They’re still none the wiser on where Aidan is, and why Ethan’s so intent of finding him, and how Ethan became the leader of the Alpha pack in the first place, and why Aidan’s killing people. Ethan’s not talking and Derek’s just about reached breaking point on that. There’s a tension that runs through all of them and it’s making Stiles’s head hurt. 

Stiles feels like he’s carved a little place in the pack though. He spends most of the summer there, Peter doesn’t even raise his eyebrows at him anymore. He even manages to get Scott to come with him one day and Derek and him make a tentative truce. One that Stiles heaves a sigh of relief over because if Aidan running around killing people is as bad as Stiles thinks Derek thinks it is, they’re going to need all the help they can get. 

…

“Could you hand me the…” Stiles holds out his hand and Derek places the screwdriver in it, running his fingers over Stiles’s palm. Stiles is putting up a curtain rail, because apparently boisterous pack bonding session (something Stiles doesn’t even want to know about) can cause destruction. And apparently, none of the handy, burly men that live in this house know how to hang a curtain rail. He grins down at Derek from his step ladder and Derek curls a hand around his ankle. It’s nice, this easy touching whenever they can because there’s no one else around at the moment, it’s not pointed or leading, it’s just contact and Stiles’s pulse jumps. Derek raises an eyebrow like he can hear it. It’s not that Stiles wants to have Derek haul him off the ladder and have his wicked way with him on the floor. It would be nice obviously, but Stiles still can’t deny the flutter of nerves whenever he thinks about… _that_. It’s just he’s not really sure what this is, or what Derek thinks this is. But it’s nice, and he can’t deny that kissing Derek makes his pants uncomfortably tight and makes him crave more. And Derek’s had a guest staring role in certain _happy_ dreams on more than one occasion. 

“Thanks for this, by the way,” Derek mutters, his thumb making one long swipe over the bump of Stiles’s ankle bone, his fingers warm and solid. 

“No probs, just don’t ever tell me how it happened…ok?” Derek huffs out a laugh. Stiles grins to himself, reaches up and his hands start shaking. “Shit.” 

“You ok?” Derek asks and Stiles shakes his head, feeling light headed. Then there’s the usual buzz in his head like too many bees fighting inside his skull and Stiles has just enough time to cry out “catch me” before he feels himself falling and his head exploding. 

_He’s cold, there’s swirling blackness of water, cold silk like skin under his fingers, roaring in his ears, burning in his lungs and then nothing_.

“Stiles!” Derek’s face is white with worry when Stiles blinks, clears his mind of the images and remembers the headache that comes after them. “You with me?” And that’s when Stiles feels Derek’s hand on his face. Stiles lifts his own hand and curls his fingers around Derek’s wrist. 

“Yeah…I’m…” he pushes himself upright and clutches at his head, “ow.” 

“What was it?” Derek runs a hand down the curve of the back of Stiles’s neck. It’s a calming gentle touch and Stiles leans into it. 

“A freaking Kelpie,” Stiles remembers seeing one in the Bestiary a few weeks back and poured over the text, fascinated by the strange horse like creatures. 

“You’re joking,” Derek’s face creases up with confusion. 

“I wish I was.” 

…

“What the hell is a Kelpie?” Isaac asks once Derek’s practically shoved a whole packet of Tylenol down Stiles’s throat, a mug of Deaton’s powder stirred into hot water into his hands and assembled the pack in the kitchen. Peter rolls his eyes. 

“It’s a creature from Irish Folklore,” he explains, like he’s talking to a small, stupid child, “it’s shaped like a horse and has cold seal skin. It lures children into water and eats them, leaving only the liver.”

“Gross,” Erica mutters from her seat next to Stiles. Her hand rubbing the back of his neck stills for second before Stiles whines and it resumes it’s small circles. Boyd looks on fondly at her. 

Derek watches and Stiles cant work out if it’s bland indifference on his face or jealousy. Either way, Stiles muses, his face generally looks the same. He snorts out a laugh tinged with hysteria and all eyes turn to him. 

“Sorry…continue,” he waves his hand and lays his head back on the table. Erica pouts sympathetically down at him. 

“Did Vision Boy here happen to see where this was happening?” Peter asks and Stiles protests, weakly, at the nickname. 

“Yes… _Vision Boy_ did,” he mutters from the table, then lifts his head and glares at Peter, “two hours drive south of here, small town called Ridge View, two kids have gone missing so far, and I _think_ I just witnessed the third,” Stiles feels bile rise in the back of his throat. “Excuse me.” 

He just about makes it to the bathroom before the last meal he had (half burned mac and cheese, thank you Isaac) comes back up and he’s heaving until there’s nothing left. A strong hand lands between his shoulders, fingers curl into his t-shirt. 

“You ok?” 

“Enough with the scratch and sniff visions ok? I just felt myself…well not myself obviously, but the kid, being eaten alive…so no, I’m not ok…I just…” he crumples, and lets his head fall against his arm braced on the edge of the toilet. Derek runs his hand through his hair. 

“We’re gonna get it,” he says eventually when Stiles stands, flushes the toilet and swills his mouth out with cold water from the tap. 

“I know,” Stiles mutters, running the back of his arm across his mouth. Derek cocks his head to the side and reaches out, curls a finger into the waistband of Stiles’s jeans and tugs him gently forward. He cups his large hands around Stiles’s face, thumbs brushing over his cheekbones. 

“We’re gonna get it,” he says again and presses their foreheads together. Stiles closes his eyes and lets his own thumbs rub along the small strip of skin between Derek’s jeans and t-shirt. 

“I know.” 

…

_He dreams he’s Derek again that night, cold and scared, determination set heavy on his shoulder as he strides forward, hand outstretched and his fingers touch seal skin._

_Then there’s nothing but pain and darkness._

Stiles wakes with a start, fingers cold and heart trip hammering in his chest. Derek stirs next to him and Stiles presses his fingers to the bridge of his nose and looks down at him. They didn’t do anything last night, just fell into bed exhausted, Stiles’s head still hurting and Derek had pulled him close and fallen asleep with his nose pressed to the side of Stiles’s neck. 

Stiles wants to run his fingers over Derek’s face, wants to kiss that small frown away. Derek stirs again, his eyes opening and he blinks up at Stiles. 

“What?” He asks and Stiles shakes his head, unable to tell Derek he thinks he saw him die. “Stiles.” Stiles chokes on the sob that threatens and Derek pulls him close again, runs his fingers through Stiles’s hair and presses his lips to Stiles’s temple. “We’ll get it,” he mutters and Stiles curls his fingers into the skin of Derek’s back and just holds on. “We’ll get it.” 

…

It’s not that difficult to find. Stiles would have thought that some mythical creature would have hidden but the thing was just flaunting it’s very existence. 

Three kids had disappeared by the time they get there, the whole pack in tow including Scott and Ethan. Ethan had even bought a couple of his own pack with him saying “you never know how many we’re gonna need,” with a grin and a wink at Stiles. Stiles had glared because honestly the guy kinda creeped him out, and Stiles does one of two things when he’s creeped out. Babble or glare. 

But they found it. Black, sleek, standing by the shore of the river, weeds tangled in its black hair, minding it’s own malevolent business. The thing was, now they had found it, Stiles is at a loss at what to do. Derek’s face has gone irritatingly blank again, as he stares at the thing across the meadow by the river. He’d woken to Derek’s worried face and questions this morning which Stiles had shrugged off, distracted Derek with kisses. Derek clenches his jaw and he sighs determinedly. 

“You with me?” Stiles asks, digging his elbow gently into Derek’s ribs. Derek takes a few seconds to look at him, his face turning first, wrenching his eyes away from the creature. 

“Yeah…” his gaze softens, “with you.” Stiles can’t deny the affect Derek’s words have on him, even as his stomach twists with worry, looking at the creature and remembering the feel of it’s skin under his fingers in his dream last night. 

“Derek…just…don’t do anything stupid ok?” Stiles asks and Derek frowns, drags his index finger across the back of Stiles’s hand, remembering Derek’s own words to Stiles a few months back. 

“Me not do anything stupid?” he asks with a smile and Stiles frowns himself, turns his hand to grasp at Derek’s finger, just to touch him. Worry snakes in his belly. “Stiles, what’s going on?” Stiles shrugs, looks back at the Kelpie. 

“So what now?” He asks, deflecting and he feels Derek’s stare for a few seconds, obviously deciding whether to argue or not and then shrugs a very un-Derek like gesture. 

“I have no idea,” Derek sounds irritated with himself, with Stiles, with life in general and his eyes find their way back to the Kelpie. It hasn’t moved and if Stiles didn’t know better he would think it was some sort of grotesque modern art sculpture. 

“Great.” Stiles pushes his bottom lip out and Derek touches it with his finger, a gentle brush over the wet skin and Stiles wants to pull the digit between his lips, see Derek’s eyes go dark and he winds his tongue around Derek’s finger. Derek pulls away and clears his throat. 

“Well it’s obvious isn’t it…kill it,” Peter throws an arm over Stiles’s shoulder. 

“Thank you Captain Obvious, but _how_?” Stiles shrugs the arm off his shoulder and resists the urge to shudder. 

“Fire seems to work on most things,” Ethan pipes up and Stiles feels a pang of sympathy for both the Hale’s as they twitch, Derek with guilt and Peter with fear and pain. Stiles looks at Derek, waiting for the approval. Derek nods, absently, fingers brushing against the back of Stiles’s hand again. 

“Fire it is then,” Stiles confirms, something like dread pooling in his stomach. 

…

Stiles doesn’t remember much, he remembers shouting, Derek striding towards the creature as it kicks Erica to the ground, his hands outstretched to it, Stiles’s whole body going numb, the dread hitting him square in the chest as Derek manages to touch it and gets dragged towards the water. 

He remembers running, fire, and pain, something unworldly screaming, and then the sudden stillness of water surrounding him. 

Then Derek’s worried face is rising up to him, or is he rising up to Derek? Then there’s the blessed relief as air fills his lungs and Derek’s dragging him out of the water, hands warm against his cold skin. 

“You fucking idiot,” he’s saying as Stiles tries to cough up his lungs. 

He sees Erica hovering in the background and Scott’s on his knees in front of him as Derek’s hand is at his back, alternating between slaps and gentle circles.

“Did we get it?” Stiles croaks out and someone lets out a laugh, Ethan Stiles thinks. 

“We got it,” Derek growls from his left hand side, his fingers stroking at the back of Stiles’s neck. There’s something he’s not saying in the tone of his voice, a sadness and Stiles leans into the touch, even though he can feel the barely controlled anger radiating from him. 

“Ok then,” Stiles feels exhaustion crawls over his body and leans completely back into Derek, his stomach rolling as his head spins. Derek hauls him to his feet, his hands gentle and harsh at the same time. 

“You never fucking listen,” Derek mutters as he gets Stiles to his car, and pushes him into the front seat. The rest of the pack trails to their own cars, Ethan with his own pack members. Stiles can’t remember their names. Names didn’t seem important last time they were here trying to kill them all. And now? Well now they’re just as unimportant. With Stiles’s visions, his friendship with Scott, and the fact that he’s more than likely falling in love with Derek, he’s got more things to worry about than the names of a few wolves who tried to kill them a few years ago. 

“You were hurt,” Stiles protests weakly, his head pounding and his chest feels tight like he’s swallowed too much pool water. Stiles’s hands clench as he remembers holding Derek up in the water all those years ago. Derek slides into the drivers seat and curls his fingers around the steering wheel, knuckles turning white. 

“There were others who could have helped, you didn’t have to run in there with no fucking regard for your own safety…like always,” Derek is practically vibrating with anger and Stiles feels his own boil under his skin, even as exhaustion seeps in through the gaps. 

“I saw it…last night,” Stiles says and Derek stills, the muscles in his jaw quivering, “I saw you…I felt you die Derek, I’m not just going to sit around and let that fucking happen and how many times do I have to tell you, I’m not pack?” Stiles spits and Derek’s nails lengthen and then shorten in the space of a deep breath. 

“Dammit Stiles there are people that care about you, that depend on you.” 

“My dad? Because I told you not to talk about my dad,” Stiles practically shouts and Derek seems to deflate as he takes another deep breath and turns to look at Stiles. 

“No me, you idiot. Me,” he says, almost tentatively, and Stiles has never known Derek to be tentative. Not outwardly at least, he masks that with surety that has the pack placated. But tentativeness so plain on his face with Stiles staring at him is something else new on Derek. And the confession makes the anger bleed from Stiles in an instant. 

“Oh,” Stiles looks at his hands, twists his fingers together and Derek starts the car. 

“Yeah oh,” Derek says as he pulls the car onto the road. 

…

The car ride is silent. It’s a heavy, pregnant silence that leaves Stiles wanting to say anything to get Derek to look at him. But he leans his head against the cool glass, tries to breathe through his tight chest, he can still feel the cold water in his lungs. Derek cranks up the heat half way home as Stiles curls his arms around himself and shivers. He falls asleep with his head against the window. 

When he wakes, Erica and Boyd are hauling a sleeping Isaac out of their car and Scott is hanging around looking awkward as Derek talks to Ethan and his pack. Ethan puts his hand out to shake Derek’s. Stiles watches through the car window, vision blurry and eyes gritty, as Derek hesitates but shakes the proffered hand. 

Stiles is pretty sure that’s not going to be the last he sees of Ethan as they get into an immaculate Land Rover and drive off, they still haven’t found Aidan yet Ethan seems not bothered at finding him anymore. It makes Stiles’s brain hurt to think too much right now though, even though the whole situation is bothering him far too much. He gets out of Derek’s car and finds his arm being dragged over Scott’s shoulder in an instant. 

“Dude I can walk,” Stiles protests but leans against his friend as they climb the steps. Derek growls softly and goes to take Stiles as they get to the front door and Stiles gets the feeling, as Scott stares at Derek, that there’s some kind of unspoken conversation going on right now but he’s too tired to try to follow it. 

Scott squeezes his wrist and hands him over to Derek. 

Stiles thinks maybe Derek won for the moment. 

There’s a blur of stairs, a tug on his boots and then blissful darkness as he falls asleep again. 

…

When he wakes the next time, Derek’s on the edge of the bed, a mug of something steaming in his hands and his shoulders tense, jaw tight. 

“Hi,” Stiles croaks again and he’s graced with a tight smile and the mug held up as if a peace offering. He pushes himself to sitting and holds his hands out. Derek’s fingers drag across his own as he curls them around the mug of hot chocolate. 

“Erica thought you could use the sugar,” Derek explains, “Isaac put the marshmallows on,” Stiles grins and pulls one out between his fingers, pops it into his mouth and chews. 

“I’m sorry,” he says after a moment of silence and Derek’s jaw twitches again. 

“No, I am. You saved my life…again,” there’s a hint of a wry smile on Derek’s face, “but I cant have you putting yourself in the firing line for me Stiles. Not you.” 

“I’ve been putting myself in the firing line for you and your pack, including Scott, since I met you. Why would I change that now?” Stiles asks and Derek reaches out and brushes his fingers across Stiles forehead. Pain blooms where he touches and Stiles knows he’s probably got a pretty awesome bruise. 

“Because,” Derek says and Stiles snorts out a laugh. 

“That’s not a legitimate answer,” Stiles replies and Derek answers by taking the mug out of Stiles’s hands and placing it on the table beside the bed. “You cant sit by and let me put myself in danger for you?” Derek nods and Stiles shifts against the mound of pillows, “I can’t sit around and watch you in danger either Derek,” there’s something heavy in Derek’s gaze, something pointed and Stiles feels hysteria claw up his throat as Derek leans forward and runs his hand through Stiles’s hair and curl his hand around the back of Stiles’s neck, “ _I saw you die_ ”. Derek brings their foreheads together and just breathes. Stiles sees, in double blurry vision, the way his nostrils twitch.

“I’m ok,” and then Derek moves, brings their mouths together and runs his tongue along Stiles’s. Stiles opens his mouth automatically as Derek leans forward even more, pressing Stiles back into the mountain of pillows. Derek’s tongue licks into his mouth, runs along the roof, his teeth dragging along Stiles’s bottom lip as he pulls back and throws one leg over Stiles. “I thought you…” Derek mutters, into Stiles’s mouth, one hand against his jaw, the other running down Stiles’s ribs. 

“I didn’t, I’m not…I’m ok,” Stiles replies, running a hand up Derek’s spine. Derek huffs out a breath, buries his head into Stiles’s shoulder and breathes in deeply, his tongue licking against the skin. “I’m ok,” he says again. 

“God,” Derek lifts his head and kisses Stiles hard, like he’s angry, like he’s trying to convince himself that Stiles is ok. And Stiles kisses him back, lets his legs fall open as Derek presses his hips down to Stiles’s. 

“Jesus,” Stiles bares his throat as Derek’s dick slides against his own, denim and too many layers between them all of a sudden and Derek licks a long line up his throat, nips at Stiles’s Adam’s apple, his chin, his lower lip, presses his hips down again. 

“Is this ok?” Derek asks, leaning back enough that Stiles can see the concern in his eyes, “Jesus Stiles please tell me this is ok?” Derek moves his hips again, almost automatically, like he cant help himself and Stiles pushes his hands into the back of Derek’s pants and tugs him closer. Because _God_ yes this is ok. In fact the only way this isn’t ok is that there are too many clothes. Derek huffs out a laugh and a muttered “thank God,” and Stiles realises he said that out loud. 

But Derek’s still looking at him with worry in his eyes and Stiles has finally figured this out. 

“It’s ok,” he says again and Derek pulls back enough to haul his t-shirt over his head. Stiles lifts his hand and runs the backs of his fingers over the muscle, the light dusting of dark hair leading down Derek’s lower stomach, disappearing into his pants. The muscles under his touch twitch and Derek’s hips move forward as Stiles runs his index finger down across the stretched Denim. He looks up at Derek, sees the darkened eyes looking back down at him, Derek’s nostrils twitching and his jaw tight and Stiles manages to flick the button on Derek’s jeans with only just shaking hands, and pulls the zipper down. Derek sucks in a breath as Stiles runs his hands around Derek’s waist, pushes his hands inside the jeans and pushes them down. He feels a swell of pride at the tent in Derek’s boxers and feels emboldened by the look in his eyes. “It’s ok?” He says again but poses it as a question this time, looking up at Derek as his fingers hover over the waistband of his boxers. There’s an almost imperceptible nod from Derek and Stiles pushes his fingers under the elastic and tugs them down. Derek’s dick springs up, long, thick, hard and there’s a drop of precum on the tip that surprisingly makes Stiles’s mouth water. He’s never had the urge to see someone else’s dick, let alone suck one, his own is fascinating enough to him, but seeing Derek’s now, hard for _him_ , Stiles feels his own twitch in his pants. He curls his fingers around the base, squeezes once. Derek pushes his hips forward, his hands reaching out to Stiles and curling into the skin of his thighs. Stiles draws his hand slowly upwards, running his thumb along the tip like he likes himself and Derek lets out a muttered curse, his hips chasing the movement. Stiles feels a swell of confidence and does it again, then draws his thumb into his mouth. The taste isn’t as bad as he expected, it’s sharp, musky almost, but the groan from Derek and the way he leans down and kisses the taste from Stiles’s mouth is more than enough for Stiles to want to do it again. Derek pulls away though, shifts backwards, and swings one leg to the side. His hands linger for a second at the button of Stiles’s pants. Stiles lifts his hips slightly and Derek undoes the button and tugs his jeans down his thighs. 

Stiles has had a few fumbles with girls, one with a very drunk Lydia that ended with Stiles wanting to punch himself in the face and Lydia ignoring Stiles for a few months. And one with Erica that ended with them both laughing so hard their sides hurt. But nothing compares to the feel of Derek’s large, calloused hands dragging down his thighs, the feel of his blunt nails scratching across his skin. Derek pulls his boxers down slowly, staring at Stiles the whole time, and its almost too much until Derek looks down as he throws them over his shoulder. Stiles has never been one for self confidence. He’s funny looking, kinda gangly in an almost muscled way, he’s got too many moles on his face but the way Derek’s looking at him right now makes him feel like a porn star. There’s pure lust burning in Derek’s eyes as he reaches down and curls his thumb and forefinger around Stiles’s dick. He draws his hand upwards and Stiles nearly bites through the lip he doesn’t remember pulling between his teeth. 

“Jesus fuck,” Derek lets out a chuckle at Stiles’s expletive and draws his hand back down, twisting his fingers and pressing one into the sensitive skin behind Stiles’s balls as he leans down and licks across the tip. Stiles nearly comes right there because honest to god that’s the hottest thing he’s ever felt. He clutches at Derek’s wrist, the bones moving beneath his death grip, the pulse steady and strong under his fingers. 

Derek lets go, licks across his palm and leans back down, pressing the whole length of his body over Stiles’s and grips both of them in his large hand. He moves, drags his hand upwards at the same time as pulling his hips back. Derek’s hand and Derek’s dick sliding against his own, skin against skin and Stiles feels sweat beading across his forehead as fire licks its way across the backs of his thighs and up his spine. 

“Stiles,” Derek presses his name into the pulse in Stiles’s neck and Stiles lets his head fall to the side, lets Derek get better access to the skin. Derek drags his teeth across it, and Stiles should be terrified about an alpha werewolf pressing his teeth to his neck, but he’s nothing but incredibly turned on. He lifts his hips, fucks himself into Derek’s hand and when Derek twists his hand, Stiles comes, harder than he has for a long time, Derek’s forehead pressed to his temple, his come spilling across his belly. Derek groans, runs his fingers through the mess and curls them back around them both. It’s too much, Stiles whines, and Derek pulls Stiles’s bottom lip between his teeth, worries the skin, bites down as his whole body seizes and he comes too. 

Derek rolls off him, settles with the back of his hand against Stiles’s chest, the length of his body against Stiles’s and lets out a long, shaky breath. 

“Well…” Stiles starts, the need to analyse what just happened, to have a freak out about his attraction to Derek and the want he felt at seeing his hard dick, to just talk building behind his lips.

“Shut up Stiles, Derek mutters, hauling him close and pressing a kiss to his mouth. 

And for once in his life, he does. 

…

_Derek’s hurt, Stiles can see the blood seeping through his fingers as he presses his hands to Derek’s side. Derek’s hurt and Stiles is loosing him._

_“Shit…Derek.”_

_Derek’s fingers slide against Stiles’s skin._

_“Just go…stop him.” There’s a howl of a wolf and Stiles feels the hair on the back of his neck stand up as Derek’s grip loosens around his wrist, “go.”_

He wakes up gasping, clutching at his throat as the headache builds behind his eyes. 

“Stiles…” Derek’s there, his hands running down Stiles’s arms, “what?” Derek’s hands are on him, warm, solid and safe but Stiles shrugs them off his arm and recoils backwards, pressing himself to the headboard, knees curled up against his chest. He can see the panic in Derek’s eyes, the worry as he reaches out with a tentative hand. “Stiles…it’s me.” 

Stiles knows, it’s Derek. But he can’t shake the sight of Derek’s blood on his hands. He lifts them to his face and they shake in front of his eyes. Stiles whimpers, presses his hands to his temple. _It was just a dream, it was just a dream._

“I know,” he manages to say and feels Derek’s fingers connect with his knee, four points of heat that makes Stiles want to sob. He can still feel Derek from the dream under his hands, still feel the blood seeping through his fingers and the bubbling from Derek’s chest. “I’m ok,” he manages to say, uncurling himself. Derek cocks his head to the side like he knows Stiles is lying. “I’m ok,” he says again, stronger this time, “just a dream.” 

“What happened?” Derek asks, his voice gentle and coaxing and Stiles swallows down the sob that sticks in his throat. 

“You…” he starts curling his fingers around Derek’s arms. Derek’s skin is warm and alive under his hands, “oh God there was so much blood,” Stiles chokes and Derek hauls him close, curls his arms around him and Stiles buries his head into Derek’s neck, breathes in the heady scent of him, his hands pressing into the tattoo on Derek’s back. 

…

“If it’s up to me,” Derek mutters. The light filtering in through the window is pale and early morning and Stiles presses himself closer, “I’m not going anywhere.” Derek’s voice rumbles comfortingly through his chest into Stiles’s, their legs tangles and Stiles hasn’t slept since he woke with the feel of Derek’s blood on his hands. 

“It’s not up to you,” Stiles replies, his head pounding with each word. Derek had gone to get pain killers but Stiles hadn’t let him leave. 

“I don’t think that’s true,” Derek replies in typical stubborn Derek fashion. Stiles can’t even find the energy to laugh bitterly. Derek’s hand makes another sweep down his spine, his palm hot against his lower back. 

“When have I been wrong about these?” 

“What about that one where you were Ironman?” Derek laughs gently at his own joke and Stiles, despite the headache and the near crushing fear that Derek’s going to be ripped from his hands, laughs back. 

“That was just a dream, asshole,” he presses a finger in between Derek’s ribs and brings his hand round and presses it to his chest. Derek pulls back a little, enough to get a hand between them and cover Stiles’s with it. 

“Hey, you changed one last night remember? You said you felt me die yet I’m still here,” Derek’s voice is calm and Stiles closes his eyes. 

“I know but…”

“I’m not going anywhere Stiles,” Derek says again, and he’s got such a fierce fire in his eyes that Stiles can’t bring himself to disagree. Derek traps his chin between his thumb and forefinger and lifts his gaze. “Ok?” 

“Ok.”

It’s a lie and Stiles is pretty sure they both know it. 

…

“Deaton…Deaton, come on…open up,” Stiles rests his head against the door, his hand slamming one last time into the wood. 

There’s muffled noise from inside the Vets, a click of a lock. Stiles left Derek sleeping, eventually. Slipped from his bed and ran his fingers down Derek’s cheek before steal from the house like he had something to hide. Deaton’s was the only place he could think to go. 

“Stiles?” 

“Are they always true?” Stiles reaches out for Deaton, curls his fingers into Deaton’s clothes. “Do they always happen?” 

“In one way or another,” Deaton covers Stiles’s hands and pulls him inside, shuts the door behind him and Stiles doesn’t miss the look he throws down the street before he locks the door. Ever vigilant. “What happened?” 

“I just…I don’t…fuck,” Stiles leans back against the nearest wall, runs his hands through his hair and slides down the wall. “I don’t want them anymore,” he feels his eyes prickle and Deaton squats down in front of him, his hands warm against Stiles’s knees, “I don’t…make them go away.” Stiles feels tears slide down his cheeks, hot and shameful because he can still feel Derek’s blood on his hands, under his nails. He lets out a choked sob and buries his head in his arms on his knees. 

“Stiles…”

“No,” Stiles shouts, pushing himself up and rubbing at his face furiously, “I don’t want some peace love hippy bullshit. I don’t want these any more so make them go away.” 

“It doesn’t work like that,” Deaton says with his usual calm, radiating it across the space between them. Stiles feels like punching something. 

“Well _make_ it,” he can hear himself sulking, the childish tone in his voice. 

“Stiles,” Deaton sighs and takes a step forward, laying one hand on Stiles’s shoulder and Stiles feels the fight drain out of him almost instantly and not for the first time Stiles wonders if Deaton has the ability to calm just by touch. 

“I’m…sorry,” Stiles looks at the floor and Deaton lifts his chin, searches his face. 

“What happened?” 

“Derek…he…dies,” it hurts to say it outloud, to remember the hitch in Derek’s breathing and the noise as he breathes out. 

“When?” Deaton looks at him in the way that makes Stiles feel like he’s looking deep inside. 

“I don’t know,” Stiles shakes his head, because he can’t get a handle on any of it, nothing. 

“Where?” 

“I dunno…” Stiles runs his hands over his head again. There’s nothing there, just every time he closes his eyes there’s red. His head pounds behind his eyes. 

“I taught you better than this, Stiles,” Deaton sounds reproachful and Stiles shoves his hands into his pockets. 

“Sorry, I was distracted by Derek’s blood on my hands,” he snaps and Deaton raises an eyebrow but sits on one of the stools in the Practice. 

“It could have been a dream, it could be a warning, it could be a vision, we wont know until…” Deaton trails off and Stiles presses his palms onto the cool metal table. 

“Until Derek dies?” 

“It doesn’t always happen that way it does in the visions, sometimes it’s metaphorical. Are you sure it wasn’t a dream?” Stiles shrugs, he’s not sure of anything, let alone if this was a dream or not. He rubs his arm and tries not to think about the way Derek’s kisses last night made him feel alive for the first time in years. 

“I dunno, it felt real,” Stiles wrings his hands together. Deaton reaches out and curls his fingers around Stiles’s hands, pulls them away from his skin. 

“A lot of things in dreams feel real.” 

“But…”

“Have you spoken to Derek about it?” Stiles nods and Deaton’s lips curl slightly at the corner, “good. Don’t push him away because of this,” Stiles frowns. 

“I wouldn’t…” 

“Go home,” Deaton slips off his stool and pats Stiles on the shoulder. He looks tired and Stiles suddenly feels his own energy drain, “try to get some sleep, we’ll talk more tomorrow.” 

“Last night, I changed one. I felt Derek die in my head, and I stopped it. Can I stop this?” Stiles asks, his hand clamped around the door frame. Surprise flickers across Deaton’s face. 

“Did you actually feel him die?” he asks. 

“Yes…I…” Stiles trails off, the vision coming back to him, the Kelpie’s skin under his hands, the dark water swirling. It wasn’t Derek, it was him. “I didn’t stop it did I?”

“I’m not an expert Stiles,” Deaton shrugs and pats at his shoulder. 

“You’re the closest thing I’ve got to one,” Stiles says, closing his eyes and letting the vision wash away. 

“Go back to Derek.” Deaton pushes him gently towards the door, “ _Think_ Stiles, figure this out and you might be able to stop it. Stranger things have happened.” 

….

Stiles spends the rest of the day pacing his room, biting at his already short thumb nail and running his hand through his hair every now and then. 

His head still hurts, which is a bad thing, it makes it more likely that the vision is real. And Stiles can’t shake the shiver that passes over him over time he hears Derek’s voice telling him to go. He feels a tear slide down his cheek and angrily swipes at it. He shouldn’t be here pacing his room like a heart broken teenager, he should be trying to find a way to stop whatever happens, he should be spending as much time with Derek as he possibly can before…

“God _dammit_ ,” Stiles slams his fists against his desk and swipes everything to the floor, the clatter satisfying him almost instantly. He does it again with his shelves, sending books and an old lamp flying to the floor. He rips the duvet off his bed, throws his pillows to the floor and ends up with his back to the wall in his closet, clothes all around him, shoes scattered everywhere. “Shit.” 

Stiles has spent every morning since Derek first kissed him sifting through his feelings for him. Trying to figure out what they are. And yesterday, with Derek leaning over him asking if it was ok, he had finally figured it out. Derek is it. Derek is the once in a lifetime epic love that his mom always talked about, the one that changed everything, the one that made things work, made things clearer. The one that you would fight to the death for. 

The one that would die for you.

And just when he’s figured that out, he’s in danger of having Derek ripped from his fingers. 

…

His dad finds him later. Stiles isn’t sure how long, it could be hours, could be just minutes. But Stiles’s whole body has gone numb, and the skin on his cheeks feels tight from tears. His dad doesn’t say anything, just hauls him to his feet and shoves him into the bathroom and by the time Stiles makes it out, towel wrapped around his waist, his bedroom is almost set right again. There’s a mug of tea on his desk and Stiles takes a swig before pulling on clothes and heading downstairs where a plate of eggs and a silent father awaits him. 

“Dad…I…” Stiles puts his fork down on his plate. His dad holds his hand up and swallows his own mouthful. 

“I don’t think I need to know, unless you want to tell me?” Stiles shakes his head. It’s not like things have always been easy between them, especially after he bite the bullet and told his dad everything. He took it surprisingly well, the truth of it, not that Stiles was involved in everything. That took him longer to accept. But he’s learnt to trust Stiles, to not question what his son’s doing, even if it means that he’s doing something illegal. 

“I’m ok,” Stiles says, and his dad stares at him for a long time. 

“Good,” he says finally, looking back down at his plate, “Stay that way,” Stiles lets himself smile, despite the worry pitting in his stomach, despite the dread that he’s going to break that promise to his father. 

“Yes sir.” Stiles looks back down at his eggs and back up at his dad. “Did…” The Sheriff looks up at him, “did mom…” 

His dad lets out a breath of bitter laughter. “The migraines,” he says and Stiles blinks, “they’re not migraines are they?” 

Stiles stares at his dad. The years have added extra lines to his face, but the smiles lines from when his mom was still alive are still there, hiding at the corners of his eyes. Stiles shakes his head slowly. “No.” 

“I should suspected, I should have known. Your mother had one just before you were born. I thought she might have passed them on to you, I kept watching for _something_ ,” The Sheriff runs his hands over his face and Stiles remembers the vision he had at Lydia’s party, his dad yelling, telling him it was his fault his mom died. _And now you’re killing me too_. 

“What did she see?” 

“The Hale fire, she didn’t tell me until then, but she saw that.” Stiles swallows hard, the lump in his throat sticking as he thinks of Derek and Laura at school, being called to the Principals office. His hands shake as he reaches for his coffee. The Sheriff’s chair squeaks across the floor as he stands and Stiles feels dread lie heavily in his stomach. His dad smiles sadly and walks into the sitting room, rummaging through his desk drawers. Stiles frowns as his dad walks back into the kitchen and hands a worn envelope to him. “She made me promise to give this to you if…well, you know.” 

“Dad…I…” Stiles looks up at his dad, his hands gripped around the envelope. His dad leans down and presses a kiss to the top of Stiles’s head. 

“I love you Stiles.” 

…

_Ryszard,_

_You probably hate that name by now. But you’ll always be my Ryszard, my strong power._

_What you have is power baby boy. Don’t ever forget that. Use it, embrace it. I didn’t have much, but I feel you will, you will have more than me and be better at keeping people alive than me. I failed Ryszard. Please don’t let yourself fail._

_Derek knew you once, he wont remember but he did. He touched your little hands whilst your slept and made a face at your name. He’s the Hale you have to look out for now, him and Laura. Watch over them, Ryszard, keep them safe where I couldn’t._

_Look after your dad too. He meant the world to me._

_I love you baby boy, I hope you find peace and love._

_Love you always_

_Mom_

…

“Why are you knocking?” Derek pulls the door open as Stiles lowers his hand. He shoves both of them into his pockets and shrugs. “You ok?” Stiles doesn’t trust himself to speak, Derek will pick up on the heartbeat, will practically smell the lie in the air. He looks up at Derek’s expectant face, feels the urge to reach out and touch him. He nods. “Stiles?” 

“Fine,” he says and feels his heart skip in his chest. Derek frowns, takes a step forward and closes the door behind him. 

“Ok, I guess, you ok was a stupid question…” Derek trails off and Stiles feel guilt pool in his stomach, along with the dread and the nerves and everything else. 

“I got a letter from my mom,” Derek blinks at Stiles, “she…” Stiles trails off, eyes prickling again and Derek reaches out, curls his fingers around Stiles’s wrist. 

“Come on,” he says, nodding in the direction of the house.

“We’ve got stuff to do?” Stiles asks, running his hand under his nose. Derek pushes the door open and shoves Stiles towards the stairs. 

“The stuff can wait. My room, go.” 

…

Derek doesn’t say anything, just sits down on the edge of the bed next to Stiles, his thigh a line of heat against Stiles’s, and pulls Stiles’s hand between his own. He runs his thumb over Stiles’s knuckles once and squeezes his fingers. 

“She thought I might get them,” Stiles says eventually and Derek’s thumb makes a swipe across his knuckles again. “She only had a couple in her life, but…” he pauses and Derek curls his fingers round to Stiles’s pulse. It quickens under Derek’s gentle touch. Derek keeps his eyes fixed on their hands as Stiles glances at him. “She knew your mom,” Derek stiffens and looks up at Stiles. “She saw the fire Derek.” 

“Stiles,” Derek’s chokes out and drops Stiles’s hand. Stiles slips to the floor and pushes his way between Derek’s thighs, hands running up the taught muscles. “I can’t…” Stiles doesn’t push, he doesn’t need to know what Derek can’t. He does push his hands slightly higher though, kneading the tense muscles under his hands as he leans forward. Derek cups his hands around Stiles’s face and presses their foreheads together. 

“It wasn’t your fault Derek,” he says quietly and Derek lets out a pained noise from the back of his throat, his breath brushing against Stiles’s lips, “my mom saw it, there was nothing you could have done.” 

“You changed one, maybe I could have…” Derek trails off helplessly and Stiles tugs him closer, fingers sliding through his dark hair. 

“I didn’t,” Stiles whispers and Derek tries to pull away to look at him but Stiles keeps a tight hold, not wanting to see Derek right now, just needing to feel him under his hands. “I was so caught up in the vision I didn’t realise I didn’t actually feel you die,” Stiles says and he feels Derek’s forehead crease against his own. “They’re confusing…and I…it was me I felt going under water, not you. And I didn’t change that.” 

“Stiles,” Derek pulls himself out of Stiles’s grasp and Stiles clamps his eyes shut, running his hands over his face. “Stiles…look at me.” 

“I just…I just cant look at you without seeing it.” He mutters behind his hands. And then Derek’s grip is soft around his wrists and he’s tugging his hands down. Derek hooks a finger under his chin. 

“Look at me,” the tone leaves no space for argument and Stiles looks at him, takes in the stubbled jaw, the lips pressed tightly together, the slope of his nose and the worried eyes. “I’m not going anywhere.” 

“But…”

“I told you Stiles, it’s not going to happen,” he says and Stiles runs a hand over his hair as something like fear swims across Derek’s face. He runs a hand down Stiles’s cheek, lets his thumb brush over Stiles’s bottom lip and Stiles has to resist the urge to pull the digit into his mouth. “We’ve got to move.” Derek says, voice low, as Stiles licks at the pad of Derek’s thumb. “Ethan’s got news and if we stay here any longer I wont let you go.” Stiles lifts his gaze and smiles weakly up at Derek. 

The urge to say “I love you” is almost too strong as Stiles stares up at Derek, but then Derek blinks, and hauls Stiles to his feet and the moment passes, leaving nothing but Stiles breathless and his head reeling. 

…

Ethan’s sitting at the kitchen table, a couple of his pack behind him, Erica’s got her hand in Boyd’s and the other on Isaac’s shoulder as he sits next to Derek. 

“Oh it’s Vision Boy,” Ethan grins and Stiles rolls his eyes, pointedly sliding into the seat next to Derek. He feels Derek shift closer and the heat seep from Derek’s thigh into his. 

“Not you as well,” Stiles glares and Ethan grins again. 

“I think the name is almost fitting,” Peter snorts and looks at Ethan and Stiles makes a mental note to watch those two together. 

“Ok enough name calling,” Derek says, “what have you got?” Ethan’s face sobers and he signals to one of his pack who brings over a laptop. Ethan opens it and presses the power button. 

“Aidan’s in town,” he says and Stiles opens his mouth, “killed two more people last night.” 

“Why are we only just hearing about this now?” Peter looks at Stiles who shrugs and feels Isaac stiffen in solidarity next to him. 

“My dad didn’t mention anything to me,” he says and remembers the drawn look on his fathers face as he hauled him to his feet from his closet. 

“Well, whatever the reason, we didn’t,” Derek says, glaring at Peter, “so what are we going to do?” 

“We need to catch him,” Ethan says and Stiles frowns. 

“Can I ask the obvious question again? Why are we getting involved in this other than Aidan’s killing in our town, but it’s Ethan’s pack right?” Stiles asks and Derek glances at Ethan to register his reaction. He knows why. Stiles isn’t technically pack, but he’s still treated as such, and under Derek’s roof, with another Alpha, he should show respect, the respect Isaac, Erica and Boyd are showing, even Jackson’s showing. Ethan bristles and raises an eyebrow. 

“Yeah, it’s my Pack, but when something like this happens in another Packs territory, that Pack usually helps,” he snaps and Stiles nods, half stands and feels Derek stiffen beside him. 

“Usually…I get that, help a friend out and all that, but I guess actually my question is…” he pauses and stands completely, plants his hands on the table and leans forward, “why is Aidan so desperate to get away from you?” Nothing flickers over Ethan’s face, but one of his Beta-Alpha’s flinches. 

“He’s not,” Ethan leans back in his chair the picture of calm and nonchalance. 

“I thought there was something wrong about you since you and your pack waltzed in here, apart from the fact you tried to kill us all two years ago but now I finally figured it out,” Derek’s hand lands on his where it’s braced against the table, and Stiles can read everything in that simple gesture. Stiles curls his little finger under his palm to grasp Derek’s. “Its not your pack, it was Aidan’s and you over threw him,” the whole kitchen goes silent. Peter drops his legs off the table and Derek pulls his hand off Stiles’s. Ethan just stares at him and leans back and crosses his arms. His Beta-Alpha’s glance at one another. 

“That’s very clever of you…” he starts and Stiles narrows his eyes, his blood pulsing through his veins with anger at this Alpha in front of him who made a pissed off Omega run riot in his town. He feels Derek’s anger quietly seething next to him. “You’re forgetting one thing though,” he makes a sweep of his hands to his pack standing behind him, “we’re all Alpha’s.” 

“True, but you have a leader and you have followers. You overpowered Aidan and threw him out, you made him an Omega, a highly pissed Omega,” Stiles says and Derek stands threateningly next to Stiles. 

“Well deduced,” Peter looks genuinely impressed and Erica runs her fingers across the back of his neck as she passes him. 

“How did you figure all that out, genius?” Ethan asks looking far too relaxed for someone who tricked an entire pack into helping find Aidan. 

“Oh Vision Boy to Genius? I’m not sure which nickname I prefer,” Stiles muses sarcastically as Derek growls softly next to him. 

“How about bait? Or dinner?” Ethan’s eyes flash dangerously and Stiles swallows against the sudden lump of fear in his throat. 

“That’s _enough_ ,” Derek bellows so suddenly that even Ethan flinches at the bang of Derek’s fist against the table. “This is my house, my pack, and my...” 

“Your mate?” Ethan asks. “I see you two together,” he glances at Stiles, “would be a shame if anything happened to him,” the kitchen explodes into noise and movement and Stiles feels himself pushed hard backwards and his head hits a cabinet hard enough that he sees stars and there’s a snarl that sounds like Derek and then everything goes black. 

…

“Batman?” Erica’s worried face blurs and then clears in his vision and Stiles blinks, groans and tries to sit up. Erica’s hand on his chest is small but strong and he lies back down against the…couch (his brain supplies as he feels cushions and sees the lampshade that Isaac chose in the sitting room). 

“Catwoman,” Stiles groans again and Erica grins. “What happened?” 

“Derek went nuts, pushed you out of the way and attacked Ethan, Peter had to pull him off because it doesn’t look good to kill another Alpha in your territory,” Erica grins again and helps Stiles sit up. 

“Derek?” The distinct lack of his brooding…boyfriend…worries Stiles and Erica pats his shoulder and reaches down to the floor and pulls up a mug of something hot and steaming. It’s her chicken soup and Stiles feels his stomach grumble and wonders how long he’s been out for. 

“He’s fine, he’s just…dealing with Ethan,” Erica gnaws at the bottom lip for a second. 

“Erica…” Stiles raises an eyebrow and Erica frowns, stands and throws her hands up. 

“He threatened you Stiles, what did you expect? Derek to just stand by and let that be?” She sounds angry and her hands shake as she shoves them into her pockets. Stiles frowns and narrows his eyes at her. 

“Where is he?” he demands and Erica bites on her bottom lip again. It looks like she’s just about to give in when there’s a noise from behind Stiles. Erica seems to deflate and she nods once and is gone. 

“Right here,” Derek steps into the sitting room and crosses his arms over his chest, “I assume it was me you were asking about?” Stiles pushes himself up, wobbles and Derek’s at him in a second running a hand over his face and back across his hair. “You ok?” 

Stiles lets his head fall to Derek’s shoulder and Derek hauls him closer and presses his nose to Stiles’s neck. “I’m ok.” 

“You better be,” Stiles laughs and Derek’s arms loosen from around him and his hands cup at Stiles’s face. Derek’s hands are large, warm and solid against his cheeks and his thumb brush over Stiles’s cheekbones before he leans in and kisses Stiles. It’s almost gentle, and Stiles curls his fingers around Derek’s wrists. 

“Did you…kill him?” Stiles asks. Derek runs his nose along the side of Stiles’s neck. 

“I wanted to,” Derek replies and as much as Stiles wants him to as well, he knows that killing, or even just hurting Ethan would mean a whole world of trouble for them and they barely got through the Alpha pack debacle last time with all limbs attached, they do not need another one so soon. “But then I just heard your voice in my head.” Derek gives him a lopsided smile and presses a thumb into the curve under his lips. 

“Was it making complete sense?” Stiles asks and Derek laughs, shakes his head. 

“No it was irritating the hell out of me,” he says, bumping their noses together and letting Stiles go completely. 

“Rude.” 

“No one threatens you and gets away with it Stiles,” Derek adds quietly and Stiles closes his eyes against the torrent of emotion that rolls off Derek. Stiles feels the words he nearly said earlier bubble up his throat and it scares him that he feels that strongly for Derek so soon. That he can’t imagine Derek not in his life. He curls his hands around Derek’s wrists again and tugs him close. “You ok…I mean…after everything?” Derek asks and Stiles nods wordlessly. Derek curls two fingers under Stiles’s chin and lifts his gaze from Derek’s chest to his eyes. 

“Yeah I just…I need Danny,” Stiles would laugh at Derek’s face if he wasn’t forming a plan to find Aidan in his head already. Derek looks equal parts appalled, confused, and furious. “I need his help finding Aidan,” Stiles adds after the vein in Derek’s neck thuds angrily. Derek seems to deflate instantly. 

“Oh…I’ll get Jackson to get him over here.” 

“Hey Derek,” Stiles calls as Derek pulls out his cell and walks into the kitchen. Derek half turns. “You know you’re always telling me not to be an idiot?” Derek turns completely and raises an eyebrow. There’s a smile playing at the corner of his lips. “Don’t be an idiot yourself, you’re the only one for me.” Derek blinks but then his lips curl completely, a rare smile that leaves Stiles breathless. 

“Ditto,” Derek mutters and doesn’t give time for Stiles to react before he’s putting his cell to his ear and barking orders at Jackson.  
…

Three hours later and Stiles eyes are beginning to blur as he squints at yet more CCTV footage from around Beacon Hills. Danny left an hour and a half ago, having helped Stiles crack into the city’s CCTV footage, Erica slid a mug of coffee in front of him an hour ago and patted his shoulder. It’s still full, sitting next to him on the table. He hasn’t spoken to anyone since getting Peter’s laptop. Derek’s been in once, to run his hand over Stiles’s head, to make sure Stiles is still ok, but for the most part Stiles has been alone. With CCTV footage. Aidan is still eluding them, and it’s almost like he knows the city, know where the cameras are and where the best places to hide are. Stiles sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose, they’ve been here before but not for long and Stiles cant help the little flutter of worry in his stomach. 

“Found anything?” Stiles jumps slightly, looks up to see Derek leaning against the door frame, and it’s almost normal, so much so that Stiles smiles at him, despite the headache caused by a werewolf fight in his boyfriends kitchen, despite the Omega running around killing people. Stiles smiles. 

“I think so,” Stiles looks back at the laptop screen, the thing that caught his eye paused and it flickers as Derek pulls a chair close and slides into it. “Here.” Stiles points and Derek leans forward, brushes his arm against Stiles’s. 

“What is that?” Derek squints at the screen. 

“I _think_ it’s Aidan. He’s still got the ability to change into Alpha form it looks like,” Stiles leans back in his chair and rubs his temples. 

“You ok?” Derek asks and Stiles rolls his neck and looks up at him. 

“Kinda tired of being knocked out but yeah, I’m good,” Derek’s jaw tightens like he totally misses the joke and Stiles rests his hand on Derek’s forearm, fingers stroking over the soft skin of his inner wrist. “I’m ok.” 

“I should have fucking killed Ethan,” Derek all but growls and Stiles blinks at his vehemence. “He threatened you,” he sounds more angry than Stiles has ever heard him, but its controlled, barely, under the surface and Stiles can feel the vibrating fury under his skin. 

“Derek…I’m ok,” Stiles curls his fingers against Derek’s skin, slides one hand across his cheek and pulls his face round to look at Stiles. It’s irritatingly blank. 

“I never should have let him hang around…I put you in…”

“Stop it,” Derek blinks, and again, and Stiles almost laughs at the surprise on his face. “Just…none of this is your fault ok? No,” he claps his hand over Derek’s mouth when Derek opens it to answer, “it’s not. So just shut up, stop brooding and being all tortured, it’s attractive most of the time but right now it’s just pissing me off…so…why are you looking at me like that?” Stiles leans back and looks warily at Derek. He’s got an highly wolfish, territorial expression hiding under his amused and surprised face. 

“You think I’m attractive when I’m brooding and tortured?” 

“Well…I…you’re attractive no matter what you’re do…ungh,” Derek cuts off his words with his lips, his hands cupped around Stiles’s face, fingers playing at the back of his neck. It’s desperate and needy and hard, like Derek’s kissing Stiles for the first time, like he’s trying to remember what Stiles’s mouth tastes like. Stiles whimpers as Derek’s thumb slides down his cheek and under his chin, presses into the soft skin there. 

“If I had my way,” Derek mutters, sliding his lips across Stiles’s jaw, his teeth scraping over skin and the deep bump of bone, “you wouldn’t leave me sight.” 

“Possessive much?” Stiles replies, a little breathlessly, joking to cover his own bone deep arousal and Derek bites down on his collar bone. Stiles yelps but winds his hands into Derek’s hair and holds him there whilst he soothes the bite with his tongue. 

“If you two have finished defiling that table,” Stiles jumps but Derek doesn’t let him go, just presses their lips together once more, kisses Stiles slow and lewd till Stiles can feel the blush creep up his cheeks. 

“Now we’re finished,” Derek says, turning to glare at his uncle who’s leaning against the doorframe like some cheesy…Stiles hesitates to say porn star because really? Likening your boyfriend’s evil reincarnated uncle to a porn star is just weird. 

“What did you find? Apart from each other’s tonsils,” Stiles rolls his eyes at Peter and Derek growls softly in the back of his throat.

“I don’t have tonsils,” Stiles points out and Derek growls again, at him this time. 

Peter holds his hands up “ok, ok…no sense of humour Derek, that’s your problem.” 

“I found Aidan,” Stiles announces before Derek pounces on his uncle.

“So what are we going to do?” Peter asks, suddenly more interested in Stiles than smirking at his nephew. 

“Find him,” Derek mutters, then looks up at Stiles and his eyes flash briefly red, “kill him.” 

…

“So this guy…” Scott starts and Stiles sighs for the fifth time, and pinches the bridge of his nose. 

“Aidan,” Stiles says, “how do you not remember the name of the guy that tried to kill you two years ago?” Scott wrinkles his nose like he does whenever he’s confused. 

“But he used to be…” Scott starts. 

“An Alpha-Alpha,” Stiles confirms nodding and he watches as Peter and Derek argue about something in the kitchen. Peter gestures towards where Stiles is sitting and Derek crosses his arms over his chest. Stiles can’t make out the words. 

“And not…” 

“No, not anymore…” Stiles sighs and pinches his nose again. When he looks back up Derek is watching him and Peter’s gone. Derek looks away almost immediately but not before Stiles sees the hurt on his face. He frowns slightly. “He lost his pack, he was pushed out by Ethan, you remember Ethan, crazy eyes, bit of a psychotic weirdo?…I would imagine that’s the ultimate betrayal,” Stiles finishes with a helpless shrug. He sounds distant even to his own ears and knows it’s because he can’t really think about anything other than his dream, Derek dying under his hands. He looks down at them and shakes them slightly as they tremble. 

“Sounds like you almost feel sorry for him,” Scott says quietly, staring sideways at Stiles. 

“Hell no, there’s never an excuse to start killing people, you and Derek don’t. Not even Jackson has. Aidan’s using his pain as an excuse and that’s not right…plus, I think he’s going to hurt Derek,” Scott frowns at Stiles’s words. 

“Did you see?”

“Yeah…I saw,” Stiles frowns again thinking about the blood on his hands, the way Derek’s fingers had slid off his wrists, his breath bubbling from this lungs. He shakes his head and Scott claps him on the shoulder. 

“We wont let anything happen to him,” he says and Stiles smiles, weakly. 

“I know.” He doesn’t bother saying that he’s got a sick horrible feeling in his stomach that nothings going to stop this from happening. They both know it already. 

…

“Ok?” Derek looks at him across the kitchen table. 

“Why do you keep asking me that?” Stiles smiles and shoves a flashlight into his backpack. Derek lets out a small laugh and throws a mini first aid kit at Erica. Jackson’s got his arms crossed over his chest and he sighs heavily and rolls his eyes. 

“You have something to say?” Derek asks him and Jackson shakes his head. Stiles gets it though. He’s not part of pack unless he is. He’s been at Derek before to make Jackson feel more part of it, but Derek keeps holding back for some reason, keeps Jackson at arms length. Stiles is more than sure it’s the residual guilt caused by Jackson turning into the Kanima before he fully turned. That’s something that is going to take a while to shake. Stiles narrows his eyes at Derek who blinks innocently back at him. 

Everyone’s been drafted in to help find Aidan. Ethan is still chained in the basement. If Stiles strains his ears he can hear the chains rattling as he tries to get free. Stiles tries not to strain his ears. 

Danny’s back, at his own laptop at the kitchen table, scouring the city’s CCTV cameras and he’s managed to hack into the police radio as well, it crackles softly next to him occasionally. Lydia is busy mixing self igniting Molotov cocktails at the kitchen sink whilst Peter looks at her predatorily. She shudders every now and then and tucks her hair behind her ear. Derek keeps growling at Peter under his breath. 

The only noticeable person missing is Allison and Stiles feels her absence like an ache. He misses her easy smile and her dimples, the way she would laugh at his stupid jokes. Scott keeps glancing around like he expects her to walk into the kitchen, crossbow in hand, dressed head to toe in black. Stiles smiles knowingly at Scott who grins a little weakly back and then looks down at his hands. 

Stiles is tired. All he wants right now is to crawl into bed with Derek and sleep until next week. Derek glances at him across the kitchen like he can read Stiles’s mind and smiles lightly and Stiles feels his hands tingle and then start to shake. 

“Oh fuck,” He mutters and Scott looks up from the table, worried. “Derek?” Stiles’s hands shake even more and Derek’s across the room at his side just before Stiles’s world explodes into pain and darkness. 

…

“I really wish you’d stop doing that,” Derek says, and there’s a wry smile on his face as Stiles opens his eyes and grimaces at the pain behind them. 

“You and me both,” he mutters, struggling to sit up. 

“What did you see?” Stiles shakes his head and immediately regrets it. Isaac pushes painkillers and a glass of Deaton’s magical remedy into his hands. “Stiles.” 

“Nothing,” Stiles doesn’t need to see to know that Derek glares at the others because when Stiles looks back up they’re gone. 

“Stiles come on…don’t push me away from this,” Derek runs his fingers across Stiles’s forehead. 

“I’m not. I saw nothing, a great big steaming pile of nothing,” Stiles puts the glass onto the coffee table and hauls himself from the floor onto the couch. “Just…nothing...black,” Stiles feels his hands shake again, the last of the vision leaving his body and he lets out a shaky breath. 

“Me or…?” Derek asks and Stiles shrugs, resists the urge to pull Derek onto the couch and curl into his side. 

“I don’t know. I don’t know if I was you, or me, or something a hundred miles from me, what fucking good are these things if I can’t fucking figure them out?” Stiles cries, remembering the feel of Derek’s blood on his hands. 

“You can, and you have,” Derek points out, sitting down next to him but pointedly not touching him. “You’re pissed right now and I get it, you feel helpless and…” 

“Don’t,” Stiles cuts him off, “when did you turn into Morell?” he asks bitterly. Derek reaches across the space between them and trails the tips of his fingers over the back of Stiles’s hand. “Sorry,” he mutters, the fight leaving him as suddenly as it arrived. Derek shrugs. 

“I’m getting used to your pissy fits,” he says with a small smile and Stiles rolls his eyes. 

“Fuck you,” he replies without heat or malice and Derek raises an eyebrow. 

“I don’t think now is an appropriate time.” 

“Oh…” Stiles slaps at his knee sarcastically, “the jokes just keep on coming.” Derek’s smile fades into his serious face and he leans forward to press a kiss to Stiles’s lips briefly before pulling away again. 

“We’ve got work to do, we’ve got to find Aidan, _then_ we can entertain the possibility of you fucking me,” Derek says it nonchalantly, like its an everyday occurrence and Stiles nearly chokes on his drink. 

“Ok dude, that is not fair when I’m drinking,” Derek stands and cups at Stiles’s face, thumb brushing over his cheekbone. “What were you and Peter arguing about?” Stiles asks suddenly and a shadow flickers across Derek’s face, he shakes his head and drops his hand. 

“Nothing,” he mutters and Stiles stands on shaky legs. 

“You know I’m not allowed to push you away? Well guess what? You’re not allowed to push me away either,” Stiles reasons and Derek rolls his eyes and pushes at his shoulder gently. 

“I’ll tell you when we’re done with this…ok?” Stiles sticks his lips out into a contemplating pout and then finally nods with a grin. Derek kisses him again quickly, his fingers trailing down his face almost reverently. 

“Ok, you have to stop touching me otherwise we’re never going to find Aidan,” Stiles pushes him away and Derek grins, quickly and brilliantly like a flash of lightning. He cocks his head in the direction of the kitchen and walks off, throwing a look over his shoulder that’s full of promise and Stiles nearly groans out loud as he follows him. 

Erica looks up from the table as Stiles walks in, his head still pounding a little and he blinks at the bright lights. 

“You ok Batman?” she asks and Stiles nods, ignoring the stiffening of jealousy from Derek. 

“I’m good,” he mutters as he slides into a chair. Peter clears his throat. 

“Right, so since Vision Boy ruined our discussion earlier…” it’s said with a hint of malice but there’s something akin to sympathy on Peter’s face, “what I was about to say was…Danny here,” he claps Danny on the shoulder, “has located Aidan.” All eyes turn to Danny who squirms slightly. Never having been fond of being centre of attention, Danny ducks his head and looks at his laptop. He spins it around for the rest of the Pack to see and not for the first time, Stiles thinks Danny would make an excellent addition to Derek’s pack. Of course he wouldn’t wish that on anyone, but sometimes he sees Derek looking at Danny like he’s figured that out as well.

“To be fair,” Danny says, tapping a few keys on his laptop, “he wasn’t really trying to hide, we were just looking in the wrong places. It’s almost like he was trying to get our attention…or Ethan’s attention at least,” Danny flips the laptop round and there on the screen is a grainy paused image of a face that looks identical to Ethan’s. 

They’re identical, of course they all knew, having seen it before, but right down to the mismatched eyes, they’re identical. It makes Stiles’s breath catch in his throat. 

“No wonder he can still shift into Alpha form,” Peter says and Stiles frowns as he looks at him. Peter rolls his eyes like he’s talking to a small, irritating child, “they’re twins, identical twins, they share everything right down to DNA _and_ certain werewolf attributes, we should have worked that out before,” he doesn’t need to add the ‘obviously’ that’s loud and clear at the end of his sentence. 

“What I don’t understand though,” Stiles says, ignoring yet another eye roll from Peter, “is how Ethan managed to over throw him, if they’re identical twins, why was one Alpha and not the other in the first place?” 

“Maybe they were and Ethan got bored of being a co-Alpha?” Scott suggests and Peter looks genuinely impressed. He strokes his villain goatee thoughtfully. 

“There are stories of twin Alpha’s,” he says and Stiles grimaces internally, his mind wandering back to two years ago and the destruction these very same twin Alpha’s poured down on Beacon Hills until Derek and his pack had run them out. Not before they’d lost a few humans in the cross fire though. Derek’s fingers slides across the back of his neck like he can feel Stiles’s discomfort. 

“Would make sense,” Derek says quietly, “I mean, Ethan doesn’t seem like the kind of guy to share and no wonder Aidan can still shift. For all intents and purposes, Aidan is still an Alpha, just without a pack.” 

The thought makes Stiles squirm in his seat. If Aidan doesn’t have a pack he’ll be looking for one, or looking to make one. They have no idea how large Ethan’s pack is now, but Aidan’s needs to be bigger if he has any hope of defeating his brother. 

“But why here? If he wants to take Derek’s pack,” Derek’s fingers tighten against the back of Stiles’s neck, “why hasn’t he made a move? And also why haven’t more people gone missing if he’s making a pack?” 

“That’s a lot of questions, kiddo,” Peter grins his patronising grin, “and he’s probably here because a) this is the closest pack territory to his own, Ethan just can’t come in here and drag him out, he needs out permission, and b) anyone who knows this area knows we have a suspicious amount of ‘mountain lion’ attacks, they’ll fit right in.” 

“Ok fine, so what do we do?” Stiles asks taking in the blank faces around him. The Pack look to Derek and so does Stiles. “Find him and kill him? Or find him and help him?” 

Derek looks at Stiles, blinks once, his expression blank and outwardly calm. 

“Just find him.” 

…

In the end it’s surprisingly easy to find Aidan. It’s almost like he’s waiting for them and Stiles should have really seen that coming, what with Derek dying under his hands in his vision and then the vision of nothing. He should have known. He should have…

Should have. It’s so stupid, 20:20 Hindsight is a wonderful thing, Stiles thinks as he sinks to his knees next to Derek, his hands automatically coming up to press to the skin where blood seeps out through Derek’s shirt. Derek grunts and covers Stiles’s hands with his own. 

Stiles shakes his head, “no…no, it’s not happening, ok? You’re such an idiot.” 

The wound isn’t big, but its hit something major, Stiles thinks, as bright red blood trickles down his wrists. “You don’t get to stand in front of me anymore,” Stiles says and Derek grimaces, coughs, his fingers slipping over Stiles’s slick skin. 

“Not your choice, kid,” Derek mutters. But Stiles is right, they don’t get to sacrifice themselves for each other. It shouldn’t have to be like this, and the pack needs Derek more than they need Stiles anyway. 

“What the hell were you thinking?” Stiles asks and Derek lifts his hand, red with blood, and runs his fingers across Stiles’s face like he’s saying goodbye, Stiles shakes his head. “No…don’t even think about it ok. I never said I saw you die, you don’t fucking get to die on me ok?” He feels like he’s talking to himself and Derek’s eyes slide shut. “No…Derek.” 

He tries to think back on when this all went to hell, how a simple “go find him” trip turned into Derek bleeding out in some filthy alley in some bad part of town. Stiles wasn’t even sure Beacon Hills _had_ a bad part, but apparently it does. And Derek’s bleeding out in it. Aidan had been here, had advanced on Stiles, his eyes glowing red in the half darkness. He’d laughed when Stiles had said they were there to help, laughed long and bitterly and stopped so suddenly that Stiles had swallowed hard. He’d stopped laughing and lunged at Stiles, claws out and eyes like fire and Derek had got in the way, shoved Stiles aside and ended up with Aidan’s claws deep in his belly. Aidan had run and Stiles’s blood had run cold. 

“Fuck,” Stiles curses under his breath, “Shit…Derek.” 

Derek’s fingers slide against Stiles’s skin. 

“Just go…stop him.” There’s a howl of a wolf, Erica Stiles thinks, and Stiles feels the hair on the back of his neck stand up as Derek’s grip loosens around his wrist, “go.”

“No, no, no, this isn’t how it happens, ok? No,” Stiles babbles, words spilling and Derek pushes at him. 

“Go ,” he says again, stronger this time, “find Peter, get Aidan. This isn’t how I die Stiles, I promise you.” Stiles feels a sob choke him, bubbling up his throat and he leans down, presses his lips to Derek’s hard and quick and then he’s running, feet slipping against the tarmac but he’s running. And he doesn’t stop until he barrels into Isaac and sends them both to the floor. 

“Stiles,” Isaac pulls Stiles to his feet, quick and agile as always. 

“Derek’s hurt,” Stiles says around the lump in his throat and Isaac’s jaw twitches, “we need to find Aidan’s.” 

“Peter’s got him,” Isaac says and tugs on Stiles’s arm. “Although whether he’ll still be alive by the time we get back, is another thing.” 

…

Peter’s got him alright, chained up with wolfsbane laced ropes that Stiles had made himself a few weeks back. Peter must be stronger than he lets on if he’s able to touch them long enough to tie Aidan up. And Stiles, not for the first time wonders how the hell they’re going to deal with Peter if he ever turns on the Pack. Aidan’s breathing is ragged, a cut on his forehead healing before Stiles’s eyes, and he glares angrily at Stiles. 

“How did you…” Stiles starts and Peter raises an eyebrow in the way he does whenever he thinks someone is underestimating him. 

“He ran straight into me, well…Boyd and Erica herded him into me, but that’s by the by,” Aidan struggles, a growl rolling from his throat and his eyes flash red. The wolfsbane on the ropes isn’t enough to affect the other wolves, but it keeps Aidan from turning, and itches a hell of a lot, if the experiment Derek made Stiles conduct on him was anything to go by. The thought of Derek makes Stiles’s stomach clench and he turns to Isaac. 

“Go find Derek, he’s in the alley where you found me,” Isaac hesitates for a second but it’s the _please_ Stiles tacks onto the end that makes him move, a brief hand to Stiles’s shoulder and then he’s off and Aidan stops struggling long enough to look surprised that Stiles managed to order him. 

“How did you?” Aidan starts and Peter lets out a laugh. 

“Oh Stiles here is more than just a human,” he says and leaves it at that. Stiles frowns. 

“What now?” He asks and Peter shrugs. 

“You could let me go?” Aidan suggests, struggling against the ropes and then he grimaces and Stiles feels a pang on sympathy for him until he turns red flashing eyes towards Stiles. “You could let me go Seer, or I’ll rip your throat out.” Peter scoffs but Stiles’s blood runs cold at the mention of Seer. He knew Ethan knew about him, but he had no idea Aidan did. It makes the pit of worry in his stomach twist nastily. 

“That threat lost it’s effectiveness about two years ago,” Stiles says, covering up his worry and the foreboding. 

“You’re scared though,” Aidan says, cocking his head to the side. “I can smell it. You practically reek of fear, and…” Aidan’s nostrils twitch, “you’ve been marked.” 

“That’s enough,” Peter snaps, “I’m the psychotic one here ok, job’s taken, so shut the hell up before I gag you with those ropes and we’ll see how well you breathe then.” Aidan snaps his mouth shut but glares at Peter’s back as Peter turns to Stiles. “How bad was Derek?” There’s worry on his face, bleeding into his eyes and Stiles looks down at his hands, the blood staining under his fingernails. He picks at it and Peter’s hands cover his. Stiles often forgets that Derek is Peter’s only living family member and no matter how dubious his loyalty to the Pack is, Peter must worry about his nephew. 

“Pretty bad,” Stiles mutters, letting himself draw comfort from the unfamiliar source for a few seconds before he pulls his hands out from Peter’s. “I don’t know if he’ll…” 

“What happened?” Peter interrupts Stiles’s morbid train of thought. 

“He,” Stiles nods towards Aidan, “he jumped us, well me, and you know Derek,” he finishes with a bitter laugh, the muscles in his thighs twitching with the need to move, to find Derek and make sure he’s still alive. “He was there…it was almost like…” 

“He knew where you were,” Peter finishes, turning back to Aidan. “You’re not an Omega,” he says and Stiles feels the pit in his stomach deepen, “you’re not here because Ethan pushed you out…are you?” Peter steps up to Aidan and curls his hand into the front of Aidan’s shirt. Peter may not be an Alpha any more but he’s got the strength still, and he hauls Aidan, chair and all, up a few inches, “ _are you?_ ” he practically snarls. 

“No,” Aidan says finally and Stiles feels his own puzzle pieces click into place. “How did you figure it out?” Aidan asks and Peter pushes Stiles slightly behind him as he takes a step forward. 

“I suspected something was going on. I didn’t trust you two when we made that tentative truce two years ago after your pack tried to kill mine. But it didn’t click until you called Stiles Seer. You both knew about him, you planned this. You stole your pack from your Alpha and set about to steal Derek’s from him. It’s not going to happen,” Peter steps forward and hauls Aidan closer by a handful of the front of his shirt. The chair legs scrape across the floor loudly. “This pack may be smaller but my God it’s gotten stronger since you’ve been here. And if my nephew is dead…I swear to will kill you all myself.” Peter lets him go sharply and Aidan falls back down, a redundant growl escaping his throat and Stiles sees Peter’s nails slide back into his fingers. 

“So was this about Derek’s pack or me?” Stiles asks, anger seeping into his veins. How dare they come into his town and ruin what little good he had in his life. How dare they try to take Derek’s pack from him. 

“Both,” Aidan admits, struggling against the ropes, “having the ancient and almighty Hale pack _and_ their Seer was too good an opportunity to pass up.” 

“It never would have worked, Derek’s pack wouldn’t just lie down and let you take them. _I_ wouldn’t just lie down and let you take us,” Stiles spits at Aidan and Aidan lets out a bitter laugh. 

“What if I’d threatened your precious father?” Stiles’s vision goes red and behind the roaring of blood in his ears he hears the sickening crunch of Peter’s bones moving under his skin. Aidan’s twitches, his shoulders rolling and then there’s a loud crack and the chair splinters and Stiles can’t see for the flurry of limbs as Peter and Aidan lunge at each other at the same time, with matching growls. 

It’s hard to keep track of two werewolves fighting, they move completely differently to humans, fluid and fast and Stiles backs away as Peter goes flying across the room with a growl from Aidan. The wall Peter lands on explodes in a shower of concrete bits and dust. Aidan rounds on Stiles, his eyes flashing and Stiles reaches into his pocket for the small silver knife Derek pressed into his hands before they left the Hale house. 

“Why both?” Stiles asks and Aidan cocks his head to the side and lets out a laugh like he cant understand how someone could be so naïve.

“You really have no idea do you?” He asks and Stiles scoffs, backing away from the advancing Aidan. Peter’s no where to be seen but Stiles can see bits of concrete walling shifting as he tries to extract himself from under it. 

“Hence why I asked,” Stiles counters, his eyes flicking around the room to find a way out. 

“You have no idea how special you are, what you can do. Your teachers are keeping it from you Stiles, you’re capable of so much more,” Aidan taunts and there’s rumble of concrete as Peter moves under the pile. “We can show you that.” 

“I’m good here thanks,” Stiles counters and Aidan snorts with derision. “Why the ruse?” 

“Ethan would never push me out, it’s my Pack, and he knows it. I’m more powerful than him. But it was his idea. We work as a team us two. I’m the brawn, he’s the brains,” Aidan feigns a lunge and Stiles feels his pulse jump under his skin. Aidan cocks his head like he can hear it. “Take the pack from Hale, get the Seer,” Aidan holds his hands out in front of him palm up and does a sweeping motion outward in Stiles’s direction. “You’re like a free gift Stiles.” 

“You might want to rethink that idea,” Stiles grits out, “free gifts always suck.” He lunges himself, he’s not fast enough for Aidan not to move in time but Stiles isn’t going for a kill shot, he’d never make it. The knife slides across the skin of Aidan’s arm and he howls, curling away from Stiles. His back ripples with the start of a shift and Stiles swallows. 

“Oh little one,” he nearly sings, turning back around and fixing Stiles with a piercing gaze. “You really shouldn’t have done that.” 

There’s a noise from behind him, a slight growl and Stiles has enough to time to spin around, catch a glimpse of another pair of mismatched eyes before his head explodes in pain and blackness. 

…

He’s floating, or perhaps he’s drowning. The black is so thick, it feels like he’s swimming through molasses. There’s voices though, muffled, but even so, he can pick up the tinge of worry. The black swirls around him, closes in on him, he’s blind, can’t see, can’t move. But he’s not scared. 

One word pierces through the thick black, one word, sharp and scared. 

“Stiles.” 

…

The first thing Stiles hears is beeping. The slow steady beat of a machine but it’s still black behind his eyelids. 

There’s something warm on his left side, a line of heat and a gentle pressure against his wrist. Stiles tries to groan, his head hurts. The machine beeps. 

“Stiles?” The voice is worried, gentle perhaps, but there’s worry under that. Stiles’s head pounds and he remembers the blackness of his vision. Stiles blinks his eyes open, the edges of his vision blurry as the lights seem to blind him, the beeping loud in his ear, in time with his heart beating in his chest. “Stiles.” 

“They lied,” he manages to croak out and then there’s a straw resting on his bottom lip and he sucks at it, cool water pooling on his tongue and sliding down his dry throat. His fingers grasp at Derek’s wrist. “They lied.” 

“Who lied?” 

“People,” he struggles to push himself upright and he hears Derek sigh, but help him, his hands gentle but expression reproachful. “They said,” he clears his throat and sips at the water again, “they said you’re aware of what’s going on around you. They lied.” Derek frowns slightly but then he’s cupping gently at Stiles’s face, thumb brushing over his cheekbones and Stiles grimaces, feels like his whole skin is bruised. “There’s nothing except black,” Derek’s nostrils twitch as realisation dawns on his face, his eyes tired and three day old stubble dark against his jaw. 

“Your vision,” he says and Stiles nods, clutches weakly at Derek’s wrist. 

“I heard _you_ though,” Stiles drags his thumb across Derek’s pulse and Derek’s face swims with emotion for a second before he leans forward and presses his lips to Stiles’s forehead. “How long? What happened?” 

“Two days, and I’ll explain once you’ve rested some,” Derek pulls away and fixes Stiles with his patented ‘I’m Alpha don’t mess with me’ face. Stiles wrinkles his nose, even as his eyelids droop heavily. 

“I’m not,” he breaks off to yawn and Derek raises an eyebrow but helps Stiles lie back down. His lips are dry against Stiles’s, yet soft and Stiles runs a hand through Derek’s hair as he feels himself drifting back into darkness, the muffled noises of nurses swarming around him. 

…

He wakes again to Derek, a book lies open across his thighs and Derek’s got his feet up on the bed, crossed at the ankles. He looks up as Stiles pushes himself upright and the book clatters to the floor. 

“Always pushing yourself,” Derek mutters but helps Stiles to sit. His head throbs, his throat hurts, but Derek’s hands are warm and calming through the thin hospital gown. “What do you need?” 

“A new brain,” Stiles presses the heel of his hand to his temple. 

“Your dad’s here,” Derek says and Stiles blinks, ashamed he didn’t think of that before. Then anger at Aidan’s threat seeps into his veins and he clutches at Derek’s wrist. 

“Is he ok?” 

“He’s fine,” Derek replies. 

“You’re ok,” Stiles says, pulling his hand off Derek’s wrist and frowning. It hurts his eyes and he groans again. “Not that I am super glad but how?” 

Derek lets out a laugh briefly, “Isaac found me, had something of yours, some kind of herb that helped me heal,” Derek’s fingers run along the length of Stiles’s forearm. “Forward planning of yours?” Stiles frowns and shakes his head gently. 

“No, Isaac’s,” he takes a sip of water and swallows. “What happened?” 

“Ethan got out,” Derek says and there’s guilt on his face, “he got out and found you and Aidan. Fucking nearly killed you.” Derek’s voice chokes and Stiles reaches out and touches the knuckles on Derek’s hand. 

“He didn’t…pretty hard to kill.” 

“I’m starting to understand that,” Derek says.

“What about Aidan? Is Peter ok?” Stiles asks and Derek quirks an eyebrow at Stiles’s question. 

“Peter’s fine, bemoaning that fact that he should have killed Ethan sooner, but they’re both gone, him and Aidan. You don’t have to worry.” Derek says and there’s a hard set to his jaw. 

“How?” 

“They’re just gone Stiles ok?” Derek practically snaps and Stiles frowns. 

“No, not ok, you tell me…” he trails off at the knock at his door and his dad’s head peaks around it. 

“Hey,” his dad looks tired and Stiles grins weakly at him, his head still hurts and there’s a dull pain blooming from his thigh that he’s going to have to investigate sooner or later. Derek looks down at his hands and clears his throat. 

“I’ll leave you two,” he mutters and stands and Stiles crosses his arms over his chest to stop himself from pulling Derek back to him. He’s keeping something from Stiles and Stiles is pissed. 

“Thanks son,” his dad pats Derek’s shoulder and it hurts Stiles’s chest to see them together like that. In a good way. Derek glances at Stiles, nods at the Sheriff and then is gone. And Stiles tries to ignore the prickling in his eyes. “Do I even need to ask if this is about your ‘migraines’?” His dad asks, taking the seat vacated by Derek. Stiles smiles grimly and lets his dad pull him close. “You scared the hell out of me.” 

“Sorry,” Stiles tugs his dad closer for a second and then lets him go. His dad rolls his shoulders and leans back into the chair. 

“Spoke to your nurse, you should be ok to come home tomorrow evening, but you are under my orders when you’re there, you got it?” His dad fixes him with his Sheriff stare and Stiles nods, warmth blooming in his chest as his dad nods once. “You lost of lot of blood kiddo, there’s a nasty scratch on your thigh,” so that explains the pain Stiles thinks as his dad rubs a hand across the back of his neck like he does when he’s feeling awkward. 

“What?” 

“Peter seems to think you’re safe from…my God I can’t believe I am having this conversation with you, but safe from turning,” Stiles’s stomach cramps. He hadn’t even thought about that. He’d just assumed it was bites rather than scratches but he should have asked. 

“Peter was here?” Stiles asks, feeling his hands shake. His dad shakes his head. 

“No, I went and found him. He’s…” 

“Weird?”

“I was going to go with psychotic but weird’ll work,” his dad sighs and stands. “You need to rest kiddo, I’ll see you in the morning.” His dad hovers, like he wants to say something and Stiles frowns slightly. His dad moves closer, and presses a kiss to Stiles’s forehead. And through the touch on his shoulder, Stiles can feel the Sheriff shaking. 

“I’m ok dad,” he mutters but clutches at his dad’s hand, “I ok.” The Sheriff stares at him, nods once and quirks his lips into a half smile. 

“Ok, get some sleep.” 

It doesn’t take long for Stiles to welcome darkness again. 

 

…

Two weeks later and Stiles’s head ache has just about gone. The scratches on his thigh, three neat, deep gashes, have healed nicely, scabbing over and they itch like crazy. 

Erica’s been round with Boyd and Isaac, bringing enough cookies to sink a ship. His dad had welcomed the pack with open arms and promptly stolen half of the cookies. 

Scott has been here more or less the entire time, playing video games, talking nonsense, just generally keeping Stiles company throughout enforced house rest. 

There’s a distinct lack of Derek though and Stiles feels his absence like a hole in his chest. Erica pointedly changes the subject when Stiles mentions her Alpha and Scott shrugs like he has no idea. Which is probably right considering Scott’s pretty incapable of lying to Stiles. 

“Are you in love with him?” His dad asks on day sixteen, dropping into the couch next to Stiles and shoving a bowl of popcorn into his lap. Stiles freezes, hand midway to his mouth. 

“I…what are you…” Stiles falters at his dads look, “yes. Totally,” he admits and throws the popcorn into his mouth and chews thoughtfully. His dad does the same and doesn’t speak for five minutes.

“Well what are you still doing here then?” he asks and Stiles runs his hands through his hair. 

“I don’t see him running around here to see if I am ok, dad,” Stiles says miserably and his dad jostles his shoulder. 

“That kid didn’t leave your side the entire time you were at the hospital, he growled at nurses. _Growled_ ,” the Sheriff pauses, laughing faintly at the memory. “The point is Stiles, Derek didn’t leave, he bought you in, and sat there till you opened your eyes, now that’s not loyalty or responsibility…that’s love you idiot. So go shower, and go the hell over there and figure this out.” 

“Dad…when did you get so wise?” 

“Shut it wise ass,” his dad grins around his mouthful of popcorn. “Go.” 

He doesn’t need to be told twice. 

…

Stiles stumbles out of his truck, his thigh cramping from the drive, and stares up at the Hale house. His dad’s words echo in his head, _that’s love you idiot_. Stiles had no idea what had happened after Ethan had turned up, no idea what Derek went through, but he had stayed away for a reason and Stiles needed to know why. He trudges across to the house. There’s faint noises coming from inside, the low buzz of a TV and the laughter of Isaac somewhere in the house and Stiles feels his chest hurt from the need to be in there, curled up with Derek whilst they watch movies. Or just to be touching Derek, to feel his strong body under his hands. 

His knocked on the door is answered by Peter, confusion then anger swimming across his face as he steps outside and pulls the door shut behind him. He crosses his arms over his chest and Stiles shoves his hands into his pockets.

“Look ok I get it, you don’t like me and that’s fine,” Stiles starts, pulling his hands out of his pockets as Peter cocks his head to one side, “you want Derek to settle down with a nice werewolf lady and have cute, fat werewolf babies. I get it. But I’m here to stay Peter so get fucking used to it. I’m not going anywhere no matter how much of a tantrum you throw.” 

Peter looks at him like he’s deciding whether to eat him now or later and Stiles shifts, swallows against his spike of fear. 

“That’s exactly what I wanted to hear,” he says finally and Stiles frowns. 

“What?” 

“I may not be winning any Uncle of the Year awards but I care about Derek, so what you just said? Is exactly what I wanted to hear,” Peter turns back to the door and then turns back to Stiles, holding his finger up to him lips contemplatively. “I never said I didn’t like you. If you ever want to rethink your answer to the question I asked you at Prom…let me know?” 

Stiles blinks, completely taken aback, as he remembers Peter’s hand around his wrist, bringing it towards his teeth, Stiles’s heart beating loudly in his ears. Peter takes a step forward. The door opens behind him. 

“Peter,” Derek’s voice is low and Peter rolls his eyes at Stiles. 

“Always ruining my fun,” Peter mutters before turning back to Derek. 

“Offer him the bite again and I’ll kill you,” Derek says and Stiles can feel his barely controlled anger rolling off him in waves. 

“Wow…touchy,” Peter salutes as he walks past Derek, pats him on the shoulder and is gone. 

“You ok?” Derek asks, simply, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning against the door frame. His feet are bare and his jeans faded and worn and Stiles thinks he’s never looks more edible than right now. 

“Fine,” Stiles answers, and he feels his own heart skip at the lie, he’s tired and aching and Derek looks pale on closer inspection. Stiles’s skin still tingles with the memory of Peter offering him the bite. Derek’s mouth twitches like he wants to say something and he pushes himself off the door frame and takes a step to the side, sweeping his hand across. Stiles takes a step inside the warm house. Derek closes the door and leans back against it. He looks tired and Stiles’s fingers itch to touch him. Derek shoves his hands into his pockets and Stiles can practically feel the question building between them. “Spit it out,” Stiles says and Derek quirks an eyebrow, “you look like you’re about to choke on it.” 

“You wouldn’t take…” Derek starts and crossing his arms over his chest he looks down at his feet and kicks at the floorboard. 

“No I wouldn’t,” Stiles answers the unfinished question and Derek looks up, “I wouldn’t especially not from Peter,” Stiles lets out a small laugh. “Not from anyone…apart from maybe you.” 

“Stiles,” a shake of his head and Stiles moves towards him. 

“I’m just saying…” he reaches out and lets his fingers touch the belt buckle that rides low on Derek’s waist. Derek’s breathing hitches, “if I had a choice,” Stiles takes a step forward, pushes his fingers into Derek’s jeans, his knuckles brushing against Derek’s stomach, “then it would be you.” 

“I wouldn’t ask,” Derek says quietly, fingers sliding along Stiles’s jaw. 

“Why?” Stiles asks and Derek blinks, his fingers stilling, he blinks again. His fingers move back, curl around the back of Stiles’s neck and tugs. Derek rests his forehead against Stiles’s, breathes in deep and runs his nose across Stiles’s cheekbone. 

“Because,” he starts, pressing his lips to the juncture of Stiles’s jaw, he breathes in there too, moves down to the pulse thudding, despite his exhaustion, in Stiles’s neck, “this would change,” he breathes in again, rubs his cheek against Stiles’s skin, a hand still a solid warmth around Stiles’s neck, “this smell…you, it would change. _You_ would change.” He lifts his head and fixes Stiles’s with his heavy gaze. It’s pointed and pleading, like he’s trying to make Stiles get the point without saying it out loud. Because saying it out loud would be too much, too soon. 

Stiles gets it though, with sudden gut clenching clarity, he fucking gets it. 

“Oh,” he breathes out just as Derek leans forward. The kiss is gently, almost tentative, like he doesn’t know whether Stiles will pull away, too tired, too hurt to do anything other than fall into bed. Like he’s not sure Stiles isn’t going to just run for the hills and never look back because being with Derek gets him hurt. “I’m in love with you.” 

Derek pulls back, but there’s nothing on his face, no surprise, no panic, no pity or amusement. 

“I just…” Stiles starts and shakes his head, his grip on Derek’s belt tightening because he gets the feeling Derek’s going to pull away. “No, you know what? I’m not going to try and back out of that because it’s true. I’m in love with you.” It’s easier to say the second time around. The words still seem strange on his tongue. Derek just looks at him but his expression is going from blank to ‘how the hell did I get you in my life?’ It’s the good kind of question though, the ‘I don’t understand what I did to deserve you’ kind of question and Stiles feels his lips curl into a smile. “Any time you wanna do anything but stare at me is fine…just…” 

“You love me?” Derek shakes his head slightly like he cant quite believe it and Stiles tugs gently on his belt. 

“No, what I actually said was I’m _in_ love with you, see there’s a big difference, I mean I love Scott but I don’t want to kiss him or let him bend me over the kitchen table and _gross_ …mental images,” Stiles makes a gagging noise and Derek raises an eyebrow, his hands resting lightly on Stiles’s hips, “and I’m _in_ love with you. _Despite_ the threats to rip my throat out, and the man handling, and the constant scowly face and the monosyllables and…unf,” Stiles’s words stop as Derek cups his hands around Stiles’s face and kisses him hard, his tongue pushing into his mouth like it belongs there.

“For the record,” he says, his voice low and vibrating against Stiles’s mouth as he backs Stiles up against the nearest wall and presses in close. “I…” Stiles stops him by curling his hand into Derek’s t-shirt and pulling him close. 

“How could you not?” Stiles asks, pulling back and swiping a thumb under his lower lip. Derek growls softly in the back of his throat but his lips curl into a smirk. 

“Oh because you’re so adorable?” he asks and Stiles snorts. 

“That…and I’m incredibly flexible, just fyi,” Derek’s jaw twitches and he pulls away from Stiles. 

“Upstairs…right now.” His voice is low, growly, thick is want and Stiles pulls back a fraction of an inch. Derek’s face flickers with uncertainty. 

“You get why I stayed away right?” Stiles asks and Derek closes his eyes briefly. Stiles cups at his face, thumbs brushing under Derek’s eyes. “No listen, Derek you get it right? I thought you were staying away. I thought you needed distance. I did it for you Derek.” 

“I was so fucking angry,” Derek says quietly, opening his eyes, ringed with red like Derek’s remembering the anger. “I thought…fuck Stiles I thought you were dead and I…couldn’t see through that. You were dead because I put you in that position, no don’t,” Derek interrupts Stiles’s head shake. “I put you in that position and it nearly killed you. I had to stay away. _You_ get that right?” Derek runs his nose across Stiles’s cheek, breathes in deeply and Stiles curls his fingers around Derek’s ears and tugs his head back. “I killed Aidan, without a second thought. I killed for you Stiles and I would do it again in a heart beat. And that…” he falters, kisses Stiles hard and brief, “that scares me.” 

“Derek,” Stiles pulls him back, kisses him slowly, in complete contrast to Derek’s hard and urgent kiss. “I don’t even want to know what I would do for you,” Stiles says gently, fingers working under Derek’s eyes, across his cheekbone. Derek’s lets out a sigh, breath warm against Stiles’s lips. “I think we’re both too tangled in this to back out Derek.” 

“Too tangled in what?” Derek mutters, hands hot against Stiles’s back. 

“Us, and just because we’d do any number of things for each other doesn’t mean we should stay away, ok?” Derek’s forehead crinkles between his eyes and Stiles smoothes it out with the tip of his index finger. “I’m scared too.” Derek’s eyes fly open and his hands tug Stiles closer. 

“Of what?” He asks and Stiles presses his forehead to the hollow of Derek’s throat. 

“Everything. You,” Derek stiffens but Stiles presses on, “me, us. But it’s got to be worth it because, and I can’t believe I am actually going to say this but I’ve already told you I’m in love with you so this cant hurt,” Derek’s chest rumbles under his forehead. 

“Breathe Stiles.” 

“Because,” Stiles lifts his head and stares straight at Derek, “I think what we’ve got here is once in a lifetime.” Derek’s lips twitch, he blinks and Stiles feels the silence stretch between them. 

“Me too,” Derek says quietly and that’s all Stiles needs to hear right now. He leans forward and presses his lips to Derek’s, groaning as Derek’s hand, hot and flat against his back, pulls him hard and close. 

“Let’s finish this conversation upstairs,” Stiles mutters as Derek slides his lips down his throat, nips at his collar bone. 

“How’s your thigh?” Derek asks and Stiles frowns, confused for a second. 

“Fine…why?” Derek runs his hands down Stiles’s back, grips as his ass and tugs, bringing Stiles up and Stiles automatically winds his legs around Derek’s waist. 

“Oh I think we’re finished talking,” Derek growls and Stiles couldn’t agree more. 

They makes it upstairs without braking anything and Derek lets Stiles down, his legs shaking a little and his thigh itching but Derek steps away and hauls his t-shirt over his head and Stiles forgets everything other than the tones chest in front of his eyes. He reaches out and runs his fingers down the centre and Derek’s muscles twitch under his touch. Stiles runs a finger around one of Derek’s nipples, grazes it with his nail and Derek’s hisses, his nostrils flaring. 

“I haven’t…” Stiles starts and Derek catches his hand, holds it flat against his chest. 

“I know,” he says and then smiles so softly that it makes Stiles’s breath catch in his throat. “Time to rectify that, I think.” He pulls Stiles close and kisses him, pushes his tongue into Stiles’s mouth and catches Stiles’s groan. Derek’s hands are at Stiles’s waist, gripping hard but they move, up under Stiles’s t-shirt, flat and hot against Stiles’s skin, pressing their chests together. Derek’s mouth moves down Stiles’s jaw, teeth scraping gently and Stiles arches into Derek. Derek pulls away and tugs on Stiles’s shirt, pulls it up and over his head and Stiles is left feeling exposed and lacking. Derek’s eyes, though, darken and he practically drinks in the sight of Stiles. Stiles squirms and Derek runs his hands across Stiles’s chest, up over his shoulders and down his arms, curls their fingers together and kisses him again. “You have no idea.” He mutters against Stiles’s mouth and Stiles doesn’t have time to answer before Derek is pulling away again and pressing Stiles down onto the bed. Stiles shifts back against the pillows and watches as Derek flicks the button on his jeans and pushes them down his hips. His plain black boxer briefs tent at the front and Stiles’s mouth waters at the memory of Derek’s dick in his hand. Derek pulls his briefs down, throws them over his shoulder and crawls over Stiles, licking his way from Stiles’s stomach to his mouth. One hand reaches between them and pops Stiles’s button on his jeans and Derek leaves again, tugs off Stiles jeans and throws them over his shoulder as well. They land with a dull thud and Stiles squirms again as Derek’s gaze lands on his boxers. There’s a patch of dark grey against the soft marl grey of Stiles’s boxers, and Stiles’s dick twitches as Derek runs his fingers along the length of him, material doing nothing to hide the strength in Derek’s touch. Derek’s fingers work their way back down, across the sharpness of Stiles’s hip bones and down his thigh, pausing at the three scratches that work their way across Stiles’s skin. Derek’s gaze flickers, his nostrils twitching as he runs his index finger down the length of one of the scratches. 

Stiles reaches down and catches Derek’s hand. 

“Not your fault,” he mutters at Derek’s guilt ridden face and Derek growls softly, lunges forward and presses Stiles back against the pillows, kissing him like he might never get the chance again. Derek’s lowers himself slowly, Stiles can feel the quivering in his muscles, and there’s an initial bloom of pain as Derek’s weight settles down against Stiles’s thigh. Stiles hisses, shifts, spreads his legs and wraps his good one around Derek and then there’s nothing but pleasure as Derek shifts his own hips, presses down against Stiles and his dick slides across Stiles’s. 

“Clothes,” Stiles manages to breath out as Derek’s hips works against his own and Stiles’s dick is painfully hard in his boxers. Derek pulls away far enough to look down at him. His eyes are dark, lips parted slightly and his breath comes in ragged puffs against Stiles’s lips. 

“Trying to take it slow,” Derek mutters, hips moving almost on their own. 

“Fuck slow,” Stiles replies, running a hand down Derek’s back and tugging him closer. “I need…” he breaks off as Derek lowers his head and bites gently at his neck. “Fuck Derek I need more…please.” Derek wrenches himself away with a groan and tugs off Stiles’s boxers, no finesse as he chucks them to the side and is back, reaching between them and curling his large hand around them both. Derek looks down and runs his thumb across the head of Stiles’s dick and Stiles practically bites through his own lip. “Derek…come on, stop teasing.” Stiles pushes at Derek’s shoulder and tries to turn over onto his stomach. Derek’s hand is strong against his shoulder. He shakes his head. 

“No,” he says and Stiles feels doubt pool in his stomach. “I need…” Derek says and trails off, thinks better of explaining what he need and shows Stiles instead. He pushes himself up slightly and reaches into his bedside table drawer, rummaging around and pulling out a condom and a bottle of what Stiles can only assume is lube. Stiles’s stomach flips, not with nerves, surprisingly, but with anticipation, and his dick twitches. “I need you.” Derek says, not looking at Stiles but at the bottle in his hands. He flicks the lid and pours the clear, thick liquid into his fingers. 

With sudden breath taking clarity Stiles gets what Derek means as he reaches behind himself and arches upwards. Stiles has never seen anything more stunning. Derek’s chest moves, muscles rippling as Derek works his own fingers into himself. Stiles runs his hands up Derek’s thighs and Derek leans down, brackets one hand against Stiles’s head and presses a breathless kiss to Stiles’s mouth. 

“Fuck Derek,” Stiles mutters as he reaches one hand behind Derek and feels Derek’s fingers disappearing into his ass. Stiles wishes he could see, and despite the fact that he’s never done anything like this, or ever contemplated anything like this apart from with Derek, he suddenly needs to be inside Derek’s body no matter what. Needs it like nothing he’s ever needed before. Derek whines, his back arching like a bow as Stiles pushes one of his own fingers inside Derek. It’s blisteringly hot, slick and Stiles can feel Derek’s fingers slide against his own. It’s almost enough to have Stiles coming right there but Derek stills, pulls his hand out and whines again when Stiles down the same. There’s a blush of what looks like embarrassment as Derek sits back up, but its mixed with arousal and lust and Stiles wants to throw him down and push into that body that makes him feel inadequate. Derek scoots back on Stiles’s thighs, grabs the condom packet and rips it open. He strokes Stiles once, leans down and runs his tongue across the slit in Stiles’s dick before rolling the condom down over it. Stiles nearly comes then but Derek moves back up, grips Stiles tight and lowers himself down. 

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Stiles curses, his eyes slamming shut as the heat of Derek’s body envelops him and Derek huffs out a ragged breath, stilling as he gets all the way down and Stiles remembers to breathe. Stiles opens his eyes and stares up at Derek. There’s a slight pained expression on his face, but he’s staring at Stiles with…Oh Jesus, _love_ and Stiles wants to cry, wants to fuck his hips up into Derek’s body, wants to come, wants everything with this man above him and he has no idea how the hell he got to fucking lucky. “Derek…you ok?” Derek nods, shifts and pleasure shoots through Stiles’s body. 

“Gimme a second,” Derek breathes out, his fingers curling against Stiles’s chest, “it’s been a while.” Stiles feels a pang of jealousy that someone got to see this before him, someone got to see Derek at his most vulnerable before Stiles did. Derek moves then, lifts himself up and lowers back down and Stiles has never seen anything more beautiful than the sight of Derek Hale like this. A drop of sweat rolls down the centre of Derek’s chest and Derek throws his head back as he shifts and lowers himself again. Derek’s dick bobs, half hard, in front of Stiles as Derek begins to move in earnest, his thigh muscles moving under Stiles’s hands. And Stiles feels a punch to the gut of possessiveness as he wraps his hand around Derek’s dick and mutters, “mine” under his breath. Derek shifts again, his hands pressing into Stiles’s chest, and he looks back down at Stiles as his insides clench around Stiles’s dick. 

“Mine,” he growls right back and Stiles feels his balls draw up, the tingles down his thighs skitter back up and across his backside and he’s coming, faster than he has since he first discovered the fascination with his own dick. Hard enough to see stars and buried so deep inside Derek that he never wants to leave. Derek carried on moving, Stiles’s hand twisting around his dick and Derek growls, rumbles through his chest and he leans down, presses his lips to Stiles’s kisses him hard. “I love you,” he pushes the words into Stiles’s mouth before presses his head to Stiles’s neck and biting down on the skin as he comes over Stiles’s hand, his body clenching around Stiles’s spent dick. 

Derek doesn’t move for a while, licking at Stiles’s neck, his breathing going back to normal and Stiles runs a hand down his spine. Stiles’s dick is still inside, wrapped in a tight heat that makes Stiles want to stay there forever. Stiles shudders as Derek moves eventually, pushes himself upright and winces as he moves off and Stiles’s dick slides free. Stiles should move, should do something with the condom and Derek’s come drying slowing on his stomach. His thigh itches again and Derek moves, rolls out of bed and disappears. Stiles hears the running of water and then Derek’s back, running the warm towel over Stiles’s skin. Derek pulls off the condom and ties it, throws it in the direct of the bin and lies back down, pulling Stiles close and pressing his fingers into the taught skin around the scratches on his thigh. 

“Derek?” Stiles twists in Derek’s arms, his body protesting, and exhaustion washes over him. Derek puts a finger to Stiles’s lips. 

“You have your ‘I’m going to ruin this by talking’ face on,” Derek says, his eyes closing and he presses a kiss to Stiles’s forehead. Stiles clamps his mouth shut. There’s a million and one things he wants to say, thank you for giving me that, I’m sorry you had to kill for me, don’t you even dare to dream about leaving me, I love you. All of them just seem so…pointless now. Derek knows them all. Derek’s lips move against his skin and he kisses Stiles on the tip of his nose. “I can hear you thinking,” he says and Stiles lets out a breath of a laugh. Derek’s eyes open again. “We’ll talk in the morning if you want,” he mutters and Stiles nods, feeling a lump of emotion blocking his throat. “Go to sleep Stiles.” 

Stiles sleeps and for once his dreams are blissfully quiet.


End file.
